
Class 

Book 

Copyright ]\"?. 



j^^fiXl 



MJA 



CjQEffilGHT DEPOSm 



OUT THERE 




{Courtesij of General Press Orfjanizafioti) 

Old Glory in London 



OUT THERE 



BY 

CHARLES W. WHITEHAIR 




ILLUSTRATED 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 

1918 



^S;<^; ^Afd^M^- 



4' 



Copyright, 1918, by 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



MAR 27 1918 



Printed in the United States of America 



©GI.A494341 



TO THE LADS WHO GO OVER THE TOP 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Getting the Range 11 

II. The Lonely Road to Zero .... 25 

III. The Path of the Walking Wounded . 38 

IV. The World Upside Down .... 53 
V. Helping Carry the Old Kit Bag at 

the Front 69 

VI. Where Suffering Lips are Dumb . . 90 
VII. "I was Sick and in Prison and Ye Came 

Unto Me" 99 

VIII. In the Melting Pot 114; 

IX. France Cannot Die 132 

X. London — Paris 140 

XL At the War with the Yankees . . 147 

XII. Answering the Call 159 

XIII. Homesick^ Yes 179 

XIV. Keeping the Home Fires Burning . . 189 

XV. Egyptian Nights 200 

XVI. "Where There Ain't No Ten Com- 
mandments" 217 

XVII. I Just Want to do My Bit .... 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
Old Glory in London Frontispiece"^ 

PAGE 

Cellar on the Ypres Salient 31' 

Interior of the cellar 31^ 

The walking wounded 41' 

A touch of home on the border of No Man's Land 41 
In spite of the mud, slush and Boche, the fun goes 

on 6l 

Where the bullets always whine 61' 

Y. M. C. A. hut destroyed by shell fire in 1917 . 75' 
The Anderson hut, somewhere in France ... 76 
Entrance to Queen Alexandria dugout ... 80"^ 
Interior of the Queen Alexandria dugout after 

bombardment 81 

At home and happy out there 153 

It's not all drill, drill, drill over there . . . 153 

Foyer du soldat 171' 

Church parade, "Where there ain't no Ten Com- 
mandments" 205 " 

At the outpost of the empire 225 

After the Waza war 225 



CHAPTER I 



"getting the range" 



We are at the Front. "Zero" is Thursday 
morning — Tomorrow morning. The big 
"push" is now on. 

Long after midnight we crawl into our 
bunks; but sleep is far, far away. To sleep 
is almost impossible, because of the clanking, 
stamping feet of the thousands of men who 
are marching by. The men marching past 
are "going in." Silent, resolute and deter- 
mined they pass on into the night, no singing, 
no whistling, no talking. They are all rested, 
fully equipped and ready to face what lies 
ahead. Many have been in before and know 
what they must face. Others are going in for 
the first time ; nervous and uneasy, yet quietly 
marching on into the trenches. Over all of 
them hangs a deadly silence. Yet they are 
full of calm and quiet determination. 

"Coming out" is another story. Dirty, 
11 



OUT THERE 

muddy and weary, yet cheerful and happy — 
behind them the smells, the rats, the bugs and 
all other creeping things, ahead of them a hot 
bath, clean clothes, warm food and sleep, sleep, 
sleep — just think of it! Of course they are 
singing. It is here the most simple things of 
life become great luxuries. Warm baths, hot 
food, plenty of smoke and dry clothes make 
life happy and contented. 

We fall asleep with the song of the march- 
ing men who are "coming out" ringing in our 
ears: 

Way down upon the Swannee River, 

Far, far away, 
There's where my heart is turning ever, 

There's where the old folks stay. 
All up and down the whole creation, 

Sadly I roam. 
Still sighing for the old plantation. 

And for the old folks at home. 

Early next morning, we are called out to see 
the Boche machine that is trying to get over 
the line. But the anti-aircraft guns cracking 
all around keep the Boche plane high in the 
heavens, and at last he turns and makes for 
his own line. 

12 



"GETTmG THE RANGE" 

All day long we go up and down the lines. 
We enter villages where every single room in 
every single house has been built by shells, 
where absolutely the whole village has been 
pounded level with the ground. 

The roads are jammed with traffic. On 
one side the men are marching up by the 
thousands — the great motor lorries are going 
forward with men and supplies — the gun car- 
riages are carrying up fodder for the guns. 
The Despatch riders are going by on their 
motor cycles. All traffic makes way for these 
Dare-Devil riders. They go dashing by bear- 
ing their orders. The pigeon carriers with 
the cages of pigeons on their cycles are rush- 
ing for some objective far up the hne. In 
this war, man, beast and bird have all been 
drawTi into service. Wire and wireless may 
break down, so the pigeons are daily given 
their practice flight preparing for the time 
when they must do their bit in this death 
grapple. 

On the other side of the road the men who 
have done their turn in the trenches are com- 
ing out, the empty lorries are coming back for 

13 



OUT THERE 

supplies and ammunition. The empty gun 
carriages are rolling past. 

In the fields all around us are the men 
drawn up in line for the final inspection. The 
young officers quietly move down the line. 
Rifles and bayonets must be perfect, for no 
sham battle lies ahead. Gas masks are exam- 
ined; some are cast aside and fresh ones se- 
cured, for no man's life must be lost through 
an imperfect gas mask. All equipment must 
be in perfect condition. 

The word "Forward" is given. They swing 
into the road that leads down the trench and 
"Over the Top." 

High up in the heavens, the great observa- 
tion balloons are hanging. The planes over- 
head are droning like great swarms of bees, 
as they keep back the German aviators who 
try to come over the line; also they are flying 
over Fritz's line, for in this war the aircraft 
are the eyes of the army. 

Never have we seen crowds like the crowd 
we are now in, but, contrary to any other 
crowd, it all seems to be rushing forward with 
one single mind and with one single purpose, 

14 



"GETTING THE RANGE" 

We start up Messiner Ridge some fifty feet 
apart, for high up we see the great German 
balloons which are always silently watching 
the activities on our side of the line, just as 
the balloons of the Allied forces are watch- 
ing on Fritz's side. We can walk above the 
ground now. Fritz is not wasting shrapnel 
on lone men. 

We step very carefully in order not to kick 
some unexploded bomb or fall into a shell 
hole. We are walking over ground where 
every single yard has been hit by shells; not 
only once, but time after time has it been 
churned and rechurned. We are treading in 
the valley of destruction and death — ^the entire 
hill has been swept by the broom of death. 
Every square foot has been made sacred by 
the best blood of the British Empire. 

All around, the guns are carefully con- 
cealed in their gunpits. The camouflaging 
here must be perfect, all of the guns being un- 
der the eyes of the German observers who are 
constantly looking down over the lines. The 
"woolly bear" shrapnel is bursting, the great 
high shells are whistling over. On beyond 

15 



OUT THERE 

the summit of the hill, the great high explo- 
sive shells are falling. 

I had made up my mind just how I would 
act and feel when I came under shell fire, but 
it is one thing to sit by a comfortable fire and 
work out your theories and another thing to go 
up on the side of the hill with the shells fall- 
ing all around. One of my friends, a former 
Harvard football captain, turned and asked 
me how I felt. "Almost scared to death," was 
my reply, and he answered, "So am I." 

Lying in a shell hole, I noticed the engi- 
neers putting in a line of white posts. This is 
the path back from "No Man's Land" for the 
men who fall and must walk back — "the walk- 
ing wounded." 

This may seem strange in the light of all 
the talk we have heard back in America re- 
garding the way the men go into the line 
cheering and singing. I have yet to meet a 
man under shell fire who says he likes it. 
Men do not Uke it. I firmly believe that 
every single man who goes into the line for 
the first time is truly frightened. Men do not 
come to like it, but they do become reconciled 

16 



"GETTING THE RANGE" 

to it, and certainly in a sense accustomed to 
the heavy shell fire. But walking into shell 
fire never is a habit they have to break. 

We lie on the edge of a great crater which 
had been made by one of the seventeen mines 
which had been touched off in June, when 
thousands of Germans "went west" and the 
Allies took another step toward Berlin. The 
crater is one hundred and fifty feet across, 
eighty to one hundred feet deep, and four 
hundred to five hundred feet around. 

A few hundred feet down the side of the 
hill the German high explosive shells are 
bursting near one of the British batteries, 
which they succeeded in locating. Every few 
minutes a shell comes over. It bursts uncom- 
fortably near where the men are working their 
guns. As the shell explodes, the men duck 
into the dugout around the gun, waiting for 
the rocks, stones and pieces of shell which 
have broken high in the air to come down. 
Then they rush out of the dugout, load the 
gun, and fire it without apparent excitement. 
In spite of the fact that they know Fritz has 
located their gun, they "carry on." 

17 



OUT THERE 

Our attention is now directed to the sky. 
Eight German planes are coming over to- 
ward the British lines. Everywhere the Brit- 
ish planes are climbing up to get to them. 
The anti-aircraft guns are firing. There are 
no braver men in the world than these 
"Knights of the Air." High up in the 
heavens they wend their solitary and lonely 
flight where constant presence of mind, superb 
confidence and heroic bravery, are always re- 
quired. They rush to glorious victory, bring- 
ing down the enemy machine — or to their own 
sudden death. 

We may well lie spellbound as we watch 
the battle of democracy fought out far above 
the earth — far above the shells, which are 
bursting below the planes. 

We leave Messiner Ridge and go to Wyts- 
chaete Hill, and wander in and around the 
great guns — it fairly bristles with them. 

We walk in and around the German dug- 
outs, for it was here they stubbornly fought 
for every inch of ground. We are told that 
we are standing near one of the famous "O 
Pips" (observation points) of the whole sali- 

18 



"GETTING THE RANGE" 

ent, an observation point that was never dis- 
covered until after the line was captured. We 
try to discover it, but all we can see is a large 
number of snags and stumps of old trees. At 
last our hands are placed upon an old snag 
of a tree sticking about six feet above the 
ground. We find upon investigation it is a 
gas pipe covered with bark. Mounted in it 
had been a periscope pointing toward the 
British lines. 

It is sticking up out of a "pill box." The 
machine guns which were mounted inside had 
swept the British lines as well as the artillery 
fire which was directed from it. Many a 
brave British lad had "gone west" because of 
this hell trap. 

We stand in an old Y, M. C. A. dugout and 
watch the secretary, who is an old Padre past 
sixty-five years of age, handing out the piece 
of chocolate, a cigarette or a cup of tea to 
many a lad who is making his last visit to the 
dugout. Two weeks ago they were using a 
dugout farther up the line. It was blown to 
pieces and every man was killed. 

Fortunately the secretary was outside. For 
19 



OUT THERE 

three months he has been on or near his pres- 
ent location. He does not look into the face 
of a single man who is not in the presence of 
death. "I never have seen a more Christlike 
service than that which you are rendering 
here," I told him. He replies with a smile, 
"Why, I am not doing anything, just stick- 
ing it out and taking things as they come." 
You can hear his last word to the men as they 
go by — "Goodbye, lads, good luck and God 
bless you." 

Near one of the guns stands a young Lieu- 
tenant. He asks us if we don't "want to see 
the show." 

There he stands, megaphone in hand, hit- 
ting his leather legging with his little walking 
stick, calling out to the great five machines 
of death all under the sound of his voice — 
"Fire, number one — fire, number two — ^fire, 
number three." And each is fired. 

We take our stand behind one of the great 
guns — watching. 

After the shell has gone screaming from 
the end of the gun, the Sergeant and his men 
rush up. They throw into the gun another 

20 



"GETTING THE RANGE" 
shell, then the charge. The breech is slammed 

shut. 

The sergeant jumps back, stands at atten- 
tion and calls out, "Number one ready to fire, 

Sir." 

Far up in the heavens over our heads hangs 
a great captive balloon. In the balloon is a 
young British officer. His field glasses are 
screwed to his eyes, telephone receiver to his 
ears. He is the eyes and the director of the 
battery by which we are standing. Intently 
he watches down over the line to see where 
the shells are falling. As the shell explodes 
he calls into his telephone his directions for 
the next shell. "Change No. one— point five 
—left seven O." 

None of the great guns are being fired by 
charge, all of them are being directed by an 
observation officer who sees where they are 
falling and directs his battery accordingly. 
If not in a balloon, then away up in the front 
line or in No Man's Land in an old ruin or a 
shell hole, lies the young observation officer. 
He must be more careful than the officer in 
the balloon, for he is exposed many times to 

21 



OUT THERE 

the German snipers. If they can kill the ob- 
servation officer, they have blinded the eyes of 
the Battery. 

Carefully from his "O Pip" (observation 
point) he whispers his orders into his tele- 
phone receiver. Again the eyes of the battery 
may be away up in that little British air plane. 
It is dodging in and out of the German 
shrapnel exploding all around as it darts here 
and there over Fritz's line, ticking off his 
directions on his wireless. 

Beside the battery some fifteen or twenty 
feet below the ground in an old dugout sit 
two young officers, telephone receivers to their 
ears, receiving the orders that are coming 
from the observation officer. Quietly and 
calmly they check on their charts where the 
shells have fallen, for an accurate record must 
be kept of all the shells in reciprocal gun fire. 

They call up the directions to the young 
officer who is calling out the orders to these 
five great machines of death. 

As we look at our watch within three min- 
utes after the shell has been fired from one 
of these great guns, orders are received, 

22 



"GETTING THE RAJSFGE" 

checked up and our Young Friend is calling 
out again: 

"Number one, change." 

Immediately the man who is working the 
gun changes the range, jumps back with 
string in hand, ready to pull; the Sergeant 
once more calls out, "Number one ready to 
fire. Sir/' 

"Number one, fire." 

Finally word comes back: 

"Number one or number two repeat." 

We know what this means. They have 
found the range. 

"See if you can follow the shell with your 
eyes," calls the Lieutenant as I stand behind 
the firing battery. 

Taking my stand some twenty feet behind 
the gun, with open mouth and lax body, for 
the concussion is terrible, I focus my eyes 
in line with the barrel of the great gun. It is 
fired. I fail to see the shell and decide that 
the talk about seeing a shell in the air is all 
false. But the young lieutenant insists that 
I can see it if I stand at the right place and 
direct my eyes properly. I change my posi- 



OUT THERE 

tion and get all set, but just before the word 
is given to fire a great 12-inch Howitzer some 
distance behind me was fired, and I am quite 
certain that the men on the battery made up 
their minds I had decided to follow the shell 
as I jumped into the air. Certainly I must 
have broken the high jump record for all time, 
in spite of my two hundred and twenty-five 
pounds of weight. It goes without stating 
that the men on the battery had a big laugh 
at my expense. 

Once more I get set, eyes in line with the 
gun. The word comes "Fire," and my eyes 
catch the great shell as it goes screaming 
into the sky on its errand of duty and destruc- 
tion. For an instant far into the distance we 
follow its flight. 

All around us the great guns are barking 
and moaning — surely nothing could be so ter- 
rible. But stop a moment — This is not 
battle. It is only reciprocal gunfire — getting 
the range — setting the stage for tomorrow 
morning — for "Zero." 



CHAPTER II 

THE LONELY ROAD TO ZERO 

Tomorrow morning is Zero, the hour or 
time set for going over the top. 

Never have we seen crowds before. It is a 
great sea of human life. The roads are throb- 
bing and jammed with the surging, seething 
mass; thousands of men are going in. The 
motor lorries are going up with supplies; the 
gun carriage is loaded with food for the big 
guns. 

Men are coming out, empty lorries come 
back, gun carriages return for food for the 
ever greedy guns. 

Little miniature railroad trains are hauling 
up their loads of ammunition and supplies. 
All up and down the lines these little narrow 
gauge railroad lines feed the front. They are 
quickly constructed and wind in and out 
among the shell holes. They remind you of 
the little railroad trains at Coney Island or 
any amusement park back home. But here 

25 



OUT THERE 

their mission is one of duty and not of pleas- 
ure. 

Everything is centered on the most im- 
portant factor in war — the lad in the front 
line trench. He must be well fed and kept 
with an abundance of supplies and ammuni- 
tion. 

In the fields, thousands of men are in line, 
getting final words of counsel from the young 
officers before they begin the march that leads 
to Gethsemane. 

We go from building to building, cellar to 
cellar, dugout to dugout. Everywhere are 
men. We go down one of the most famous 
roads of the war — ^the road to Ypres. Again 
the crowds. We come to Hell's Crossing, 
where thousands come and go, and where hun- 
dreds have "gone west." It is on the rail- 
road stations, crossroads and moving troops 
that Fritz tries to train his guns. 

The traffic is regulated by traffic "cops" 
who stand under the rain of shells. Never 
have we seen the traffic better regulated on 
any corner of Fifth Avenue, New York, than 
it is out in France on the crossroads within 



THE LONELY ROAD TO ZERO 

the line. Even over here traffic cops display 
great personal bravery. They stand unpro- 
tected in the center of the road. Fritz is try- 
ing his best to drop his shells on their heads. 
In one section thirty-five men won decorations 
at this work. 

All day before the battle, not a single man 
smiles. No one whistles. There is subdued 
talking. No laughing, no cheering, no sing- 
ing, no bands playing. The only band we 
heard all day was a band in the center of a 
great group of men lined up, who were soon 
to start in. It was playing a hymn. 

Men who have written their last home let- 
ters, drawn up their last will in their pay 
books, and broken their home ties, are not 
going into the lines smihng and laughing. 
Their loved ones, to whom they have said 
goodbye, mean just as much to them as any 
of our loved ones over here. We do not 
smile in the presence of death. Why should 
they over there? 

As Harry Lauder says: "You know, you 
do not need to talk to the laddies who are go- 
ing to go 'over the top' about God. They are 

27 



OUT THERE 

thinking about God and about home." And 
they are. 

We look at them. Their faces look as if 
cut out of the stone of the hills. The most 
lonesome road any man ever trod is the road 
that man takes who goes down the road 
into the trench to go "over the top." 

That is the most lonesome road outside the 
path Christ took when He went into the Gar- 
den of Gethsemane. You can almost imag- 
ine that they are saying: "If possible, let 
this cup pass, but — not my will. Thy will be 
done." 

The only words I have ever found to de- 
scribe it are Mansfield's: "They go up like 
Kings in a Pageant to the imminent death." 

Kings! every man a King. 

We are walking over ground where every 
yard has been hit by shells, and churned and 
re-churned. Every foot has been soaked and 
made sacred by British blood. The shrapnel 
burst, the great shells buzz and scream, but 
on they go. Among the tens of thousands 
of transfigured faces, not a single one would 
have turned back. Up the road they are go- 

28 



THE LONELY ROAD TO ZERO 

ing, into that Garden of Gethsemane. Into 
the garden of awful suspense and anxiety. 

There to wait quietly in the presence of 
death until the moment that they are called 
on to go "over the top" — on to the cross! 
They are facing eternity. Looming up be- 
fore them is the memory of life with all its 
joys. Before them possible death or terrible 
wounds, but certain victory over material 
things. 

Back in America, some tell me the men 
out there are not interested in religion. They 
may not be interested in the kind some people 
think about. They are not particularly in- 
terested in Hell. They know more about it 
than Dante ever dreamed of writing. 

They have been through Hell, so they are 
not interested in it. But they are mightily 
interested in God. I have never spoken the 
name of Christ out there, that a great silence 
did not come over the audience. 

Lying in the edge of one of the great 
craters, we watch Fritz's line. Down there 
it is! No, not what we had expected, for all 
we can see is a great desert of destruction 

29 



OUT THERE 

and devastation. No life of any sort. Only 
the British shells bursting there tell us that is 
Fritz's line. 

The planes are flying in the air overhead. 
The guns behind us are sending over their 
message of death. 

The men are going by. If they are Aus- 
tralians every man of them that goes by the 
Y. M. C. A. dugout is handed an extra large 
piece of chocolate. No! He is not to eat it, 
not unless he falls wounded in "No Man's 
Land" and cannot crawl back. Then he can 
eat it, and then only. As they go by there, 
the last human touch they are having with the 
outside world is a cup of tea or a bit of to- 
bacco, or a piece of chocolate in a Y, M. C. A. 
dugout. 

We remember one Canadian regiment that 
had gone past a dugout similar to this, all 
getting cups of tea. The next morning "over 
the top!" Seventy only came out whole. A 
cup of hot tea or a smoke means more to your 
boy out there than a garage full of cars wait- 
ing for him back home. 

We spend the evening in the huts and dug- 
30 




Cellar on the Ypres Salient 




Interior of the Cellar 
A Rare Treat— A Fireplace at the Front 



THE LONELY ROAD TO ZERO 

outs. The atmosphere is tense. Everyone is 
quiet and talking only in a low voice. All 
know tomorrow is "Zero." While little is be- 
ing said about tomorrow morning, all are 
thinking about it. The men here will not 
be going "over the top," but their pals up the 
lines will, and that hurts almost more than if 
they themselves were going over. The com- 
panionship at the front is one of the most 
wonderful things that the war has brought 
out. 

The giving of one's life for another is no 
mere recital of words. Sacrifice is common- 
place among these men who are constantly 
offering their lives for home and country. 

As we go out into the open we find the 
night one of the darkest and wettest of the 
whole summer. The ground under foot is 
slippery and muddy. A heavy fog is hang- 
ing over the lines as if to hide the tragedy 
that is soon to take place. 

Around ten o'clock the great Hell Gates 
burst open. There comes forth a mighty 
rushing, charging sound as of an awful thun- 
der and wind storm. The heavens are lit with 

33 



OUT THERE 

the flash of thousands of guns. The earth is 
shaking and trembling. Imagine the most ter- 
rific thunderclap you ever heard multiplied by 
eight long hours! 

The Barrage is on! 

The shells are raining all over the German 
lines, tearing up front line trenches and barb 
wire entanglements, destroying back roads 
and avenues of approach. Places where 
troops are assembled are being covered as by 
hail. The batteries are being so completely 
"strafed" that they seem to waver and hesi- 
tate, dazed and unable to reply. Thousands 
of British shells are going over while only 
hundreds are coming back. Fritz is now get- 
ting what he gave in 1914, only he is now 
being repaid with compound interest. 

The roads back of the British Front are 
deserted. Only the staff cars going and com- 
ing. The troops are in the trenches all ready 
and waiting for "Zero." 

All is set, the curtain is ready to go up. 

At four o'clock we rush down the deserted 
road by motor car and go on to the hillside 
overlooking the great Ypres salient. The 

34 



THE LONELY ROAD TO ZERO 

staff officers are here, all silent and tense. We 
are now looking upon one of the most colossal 
dramas ever staged and executed in the his- 
tory of mankind— every actor a small pawn 
in the pageant of destruction and death. 

No longer is it "Fire Number One," "Fire 
Number Two," but all around us thousands 
of great hounds of hell are barking and howl- 
ing as they send their messages of destruction 
and death into the German lines. 

A million men are in the trenches and in 
the line of reserves, ready to make the great 
push into Flanders. Every single individual 
among the million must "go over" alone. 
The heavens are red. There is no talking. 
The noise is terrific. The "Very lights" are 
going up. The "star" shells are bursting. 
Occasionally a great German shell bursts 
near by, and comes roaring out above the 
awful sounds to which we are listening. 

Five o'clock — We sit down in the mud and 
cover our faces as the rain commences. We 
realize that this will increase the horrors of 
going over the top. 

Yes, they went over at Vimy Ridge in 
35 



OUT THERE 

April on a fine clear morning when the sim 
was shining, and in the afternoon the snow 
came on. As the "waves" of men went over 
day after day at Vimy, I am told that pos- 
sibly as many men died from drowning in 
shell holes as died from the bullets. 

Did you get it? The hundreds and thou- 
sands of shells falling and the rain coming 
down and the muck forming! Why don't 
they go forward more? Because they can 
go only as far as they are able to cover the 
advance with their own guns. 

Five-thirty comes. We know that they are 
thinking of the home folks. It is my little 
daughter's birthday. All of them have loved 
ones at home who mean as much to them as 
mine do to me. But they must carry on. 

Shortly before six o'clock the barrage be- 
comes even more intense as the grand climax 
approaches. 

Six o'clock — dead silence — all the guns stop 
firing. 

Now only the occasional bursting of a Ger- 
man shell, while over all hangs a deathlike 
silence. But over the top they go into the 

36 



THE LONELY ROAD TO ZERO 

mouth of HelL For now the hand-to-hand 
fight is on as Tommy dashes forward to drive 
the Germans that are left out of their holes. 
As he springs to the top of the parapet 
and charges across "No Man's Land," he 
must face mustard gas that is odorless and 
invisible and may not show its effects for many 
hours. But at last it will get in its deadly work 
of burning and searing his body wherever his 
body is wet from perspiration or rain. He 
faces tear gas that blinds him, gas that suf- 
focates and chokes him unless he immediately 
gets on his gas mask. He goes into the for- 
est of barb wire over ground that is mined, 
under the "woolly bear" shrapnel. He charges 
machine guns that mow as the scythe mows 
the grain. He faces hand bombs, hquid fire 
and cold steel bayonets. 

Tell me of a Hell which equals that! 



CHAPTER III 



'the path of the wALKmG wounded" 



The guns are now roaring. Shells are 
screaming and bursting, the bullets whizzing 
and whining, the planes buzzing overhead. 
Men are going up in endless streams. The 
counter attack is on. 

The moment they go "over the top," those 
who reach the German trench at once clear 
the trench of the men that have survived 
the barrage. They immediately begin to en- 
trench themselves as the waves of their own 
troops keep coming over behind them, rush up 
to them or help to dig themselves in, for as 
soon as they go over the top, Fritz begins 
his barrage on these advancing men. Also 
he has turned on his barrage to prevent the 
reinforcements from being brought up. This 
is called the counter attack. 

Day after day many times into weeks and 
months the battle rages backward and for- 
ward, wave after wave of men going over, 

38 



"THE WALKING WOUNDED" 

counter attack after counter attack being 
staged. 

But we forget all else save the human cost 
as our eyes rest on the suffering, bleeding men 
that are coming down the path of the "Walk- 
ing Wounded." The day before, lying in a 
shell hole, I had seen the engineers putting 
in two rows of white posts. Turning to 
Harry Holmes I asked him, "What are they 
putting those in for?" "For the walking 
wounded tomorrow morning," was his reply. 

"You know many days ago I was sent for 
by the General Director of Medical Service 
and asked if I could get ready, as Zero would 
be this morning." Asking a Y. M. C. A. 
secretary if he could get ready for a battle? 
Yes, and before you have ceased reading this 
chapter you will understand why. 

We are now in a Y. M. C. A. dugout, in 
the edge of that hell, watching the staggering, 
creeping, weaving line of men who have gone 
"over the top" only a short time before and 
have stopped a piece of shell, machine gun 
bullet, shrapnel, or what not. Now they are 
coming down the path of the white posts that 



OUT THERE 

guides them back to the dressing station, 
which is now flooded with the men who have 
done their bit. The minute a man is wounded 
and out, if possible he starts back on his pain- 
ful journey to relief and help. Of course 
there are large numbers who cannot walk, 
who are down and out, and it is these men 
who are being carried back by the brave 
stretcher bearers. They keep going "over the 
top" until at last they become a part of the 
procession of suffering, bleeding men who are 
coming down the path which is only traveled 
by men who have caught a glimpse of eternity, 
who have faced death in "No Man's Land." 

Down the path of the white posts they are 
coming, covered with muck, mire and filth, 
eyes dimmed with their own blood, arms shat- 
tered, bodies mangled, and with wounds which 
have not yet ever been dressed. 

They are coming hack. Their hilts are 
torn of; their trousers are torn off; their coats 
are absolutely soaked with muck and mire. 
They are dripping with their own blood. 
They have gone down under the machine gun 
fire; they are shot to pieces. Chins are 

40 




The Walking Wounded 




A Touch of Home on the Borders of No Man's Land 



"THE WALKING WOUNDED** 

wounded, noses are bleeding and eyes gone. 
There is not a place you can touch on the face 
of many of them which is not caked with 
mud and blood. 

You say these men who are so badly 
wounded cannot walk? No, they can't walk, 
but they do! In many cases it is either walk 
back or die. So they walk back. 

The only thing over each man's wounds is 
a bandage or handkerchief that he has wrap- 
ped around himself, or a stretcher bearer has 
given him in the way of assistance as he starts 
his painful journey back to the dressing sta- 
tion. 

They are coming back by the hundreds and 
hundreds. They come straggling hack. We 
have seen them a few hours before, the cream 
of the nation. They are coming back. 

Moaning and groaning? No! "Out there,'* 
suffering lips are dumb. 

As they come, they pass a Y. M. C. A. dug- 
out. They cannot stop. No, for first they 
must not be allowed to sit down and grow 
faint from their woimds. Second, the Ger- 
man eyes are still on them, for up there hang 



OUT THERE 

the great black German balloons, with their 
observers who are alert and watchful. No 
matter where they see a group of soldiers, be 
they men going in or men out of the game 
coming back with their wounds, congregated 
around a Y. M. C. A. dugout, Fritz will 
send over a shell, and all will "go M^est." 

As they pass by the dugout the secretary 
is there with orderlies, serving them hot tea 
in old tin cans, which are grasped by shaking, 
suffering hands as the men continue their 
painful journey back, drinking their tea, puff- 
ing away at their smokes. They throw the 
empty cans in the shell hole farther down the 
line. The secretary and orderlies are bring- 
ing back the tins, for all day long that stream 
of men must be given something to drink, to 
smoke and to eat, as back they come. 

It is strange how men do not lose their 
humor out there. I remember one dugout 
which was under the eyes of the German bal- 
loons. On one side of the dugout is a very 
pathetic yet humorous sign: "Men don't 
loiter here; besides, it looks bad." 

We ask them, "How are you, old chap?" 
44 



"THE WALKING WOUNDED" 

"Oh, all right, sir, I got a blighty one," or 
"It's not so bad, mister." You could never 
tell the true story, for as you see them com- 
ing out of the lines, shot and bleeding, you 
remember Calvary and the Descent from the 
Cross. 

We go from dugout to dugout; they are 
coming down the path of the white posts. 

We go to the dressing station. Back here, 
we picture a dressing station with beautiful 
nurses, white tables and doctors with clean 
white uniforms. But we are in a field dress- 
ing station, an old barn out in Flanders, no 
tables, no nurses, only doctors rushing from 
man to man, quickly looking at the wound or 
wounds which have been bared by the order- 
lies. Quickly diagnosing the case they rush 
up to the next man, for all around the room 
the wounded are sitting on boxes, on benches 
— a quiet orderly bunch of men who are suf- 
fering the tortures of death with dumb lips 
and heroic attempts at cheerfulness. 

Outside the dressing station, they are wait- 
ing by the hundreds to get in. 

But, thank God, outside those dressing sta- 
45 



OUT THERE 

tions are great big tents, Y. M. C. A. temples 
of love, crowded and jammed with the walk- 
ing wounded. For every man that comes 
out of the hne is given something to drink, to 
eat and to smoke in a Y. M. C. A. tent be- 
fore his wounds are dressed. 

As we crowd through those mangled, suf- 
fering men they all try to smile as we hand 
them the cup of tea or the bowl of soup. We 
stand by the lad whose hands are shot away, 
and put the cigarette in his mouth, and light 
it for him. Yes, he smiles through the mud 
and blood on his face, as he tries to thank us. 

As we go from dressing station to dressing 
station and see the thousands of walking 
wounded being taken care of, we realize why 
the officer has asked Holmes if he could get 
ready for Zero. We stand in one dressing 
station, a Y. M. C. A. tent, helping to minis- 
ter to the men. As we look down the line, 
we can no longer keep back the tears. 

There a Tommie comes, trousers torn off, 
puttees gone, coat soaked with his own blood, 
staggering in, for his legs are bleeding; but 
in his own pain he has not forgotten his chum, 

46 



"THE WALKING WOUNDED" 

his pal, his friend, for he is bringing him on 
his back. They both see us with the tears in 
our eyes and they try to smile back. Truly 
they are coming back to us, more than con- 
querors. ^ 

We go to the door of that old dressing sta- 
tion. The Colonel (the doctor) rushes out. 
He cannot shake hands for he is working 
and his hands are fairly dripping with blood. 
But with great emotion he looks at the crowd, 
jammed and packed in the Y. M. C. A. tent, 
hundreds waiting outside. 

"Look at them, look at them. How under 
heaven could we get along without the Y. M. 
C. A.?" 

For the Y. M. C. A. has gone in to serve. 
The American Y. M. C. A. is rushing night 
and day to get ready for the time when the 
Yankees will take over a section of the line. 
During the battle, and after the battle, all 
food and so forth is given away — thousands 
of cups of tea, hundreds of cases of biscuit, 
loads of smokes. For it is during these try- 
ing times that the men need human ministry 
more than at any other time, 

47 



OUT THERE 

It is the Y. M. C. A. that will give your 
boy the hearty "Goodbye, God bless you" as 
he "Goes in." And it is its hand that will 
reach out to grasp his shaking, tottering form 
and help him down the hill that leads from 
the Cross. 

I have often wondered at the great love 
and sympathy that seems to exist between the 
British officer and his men. I had seen it in 
India before the war. I have seen it in all 
parts of the British Empire. I know the rea- 
son now. I have yet to see a single British 
officer, be he major or captain, among the 
walking wounded who goes ahead of his men 
to have his wounds dressed. He takes his 
place in the line with his men, and he waits 
there for hours, if need be, before his wounds 
are dressed. 

Outside one dressing station there sat a 
young Colonel with a very bad wound. One 
of the Secretaries noticed him and said: 

"You better get in to the dressing station 
at once." 

"No, it is not my turn. I will not go out 
of my turn." 

48 



"THE WALKING WOUNDED" 

Some four hours after, the Secretary pass- 
ing out food and drink, again noticed the 
Colonel. 

"Here, why have you not had your wounds 
dressed?" 

"I am waiting my turn." 

"But it was your turn long ago." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Of course I am, come on let me help you," 

Into the dressing room he staggered. No 
thought had entered his mind that he had 
done a heroic act. 

I discovered one strange fact that morning. 
Every man that goes into the trench and over 
the parapet into "No Man's Land" is a 
souvenir hunter. If you could see them com- 
ing back, shot to pieces, you would decide that 
these men could have no thought of collect- 
ing souvenirs. But hold on! Look into their 
pockets. 

In one tent a large number of German 
prisoners were being brought in. All of their 
helmets, knives and the like were being taken 
from them. The young officer in charge in- 
sisted that I take a helmet, knife, gas mask 

49 



OUT THERE 

or something to show when I returned to the 
States. 

One young Scotch lad hearing the conver- 
sation motioned me over and said: 

"Here is something better." 

He held out a German hand bomb. 

"No, no, thank you very much, I won't take 
it." 

"That's all right. Take it along, I don't 
care." 

"But it may be loaded." 

"Oh wait, I'll see," and he deliberately 
started to see if it was loaded. 

''Hold on. You can't give me that bomb 
whether it is loaded or not." 

It goes without saying the performance was 
growing far too interesting to suit me. 

As I stand by him I see his leg is bleeding 
and I speak of it. 

"Yes, he got me in the leg, but I got him in 
the guts. But I want you to see what I got." 

And he pulled it out and unwrapped it, a 
German officer's Iron Cross, 1914, and then 
he went to his other pocket and he said: 

"And look at this." 
50 



"THE WALKING WOUNDED" 

He had the officer's keys and his compass 
and his watch. Then he went back and he 
said: 

"This is the best of all." 

And he pulled out an automatic revolver. 
He looked like the British Museum. 

Practically every fellow that comes back, 
though he may be barely able to crawl, has 
something in his pockets or somewhere on him 
to show he was in it. All I have to say is 
that he is entitled to all the souvenirs he can 
lug back. 

It is hard to try and tell the story of the 
men "out there," for it cannot be told without 
telling the story of the human cost. Shortly 
after I returned, I was the guest of the Gov- 
ernor of one of the Western States, who, in 
the course of the evening, told me how 14,000 
had gone from his State to join the colors. 

And I stopped and thought that that State 
had not sent enough men to feed the big guns 
that the British alone are facing for two 
weeks. For the smallest number of casualties 
in any month since August, 1914, was thirty 
thousand. That morning outside one dress- 

51 



OUT THERE 

ing station, three hours after the battle, hun- 
dreds of men were waiting to have their 
wounds dressed. They are coming out, coming 
out, of battles which last for months, not days. 

The least we can do back here is to give 
our money. In fact, before this war is over 
many of our finest American men and women, 
who cannot render military service, will find 
themselves out in France in a Y. M. C. A. 
hut or dugout, handing out the piece of choco- 
late or the cup of tea. 

Not long ago I sat in the office of one of 
the biggest banldng institutions in America 
and one of the heads of that concern said : 

"Do you think the Y. M. C. A. would give 
me a chance to work in one of those dugouts 
or huts 'out there.' " 

"Of course they will." 

He is out there today. 

The time has come when there is not a busi- 
ness man in America — there is not a lawyer, a 
professional man, or a society woman that is 
too good to help carry the old kit bag of the 
boy that has gone over the top, to fight our 
battles. 

52 



CHAPTER IV 



"the world upside down" 



There's a zone, 

Wild and lone, 

None claim, none own, 
That goes by the name of "No Man's Land." 
Its frontiers are bastioned, and wired and mined. 
The rank grass shudders and shakes in the wind, 
And never a roof nor a tree you find 

In No Man's Land. 

They that gave 

Lives so brave 

Have found a grave 
In the haggard fields of No Man's Land. 
By the foeman's reddened parapet 
They lie with never a headstone set. 
But their dauntless souls march forward yet 

In No Man's Land. 
H. D'A. B., Major, 55 Division, B. E. F., France. 

No Man's Land is that small tract of land 
that lies between the opposing trenches. 

On the great Western front it reaches 
from the Alps to the sea. At some places, in 
width it may be several hundred yards — at 

53 



OUT THERE 

other places only a few short yards. But it 
is over No Man's Land that the great world 
struggle is being fought out. It is there the 
death grapple of the nations is in progress. 
Back and forth across No Man's Land are 
struggling not armies, but the men and boys 
of the nations. For in this war it is not a 
question of armies. The men of the nations 
are under arms. 

Those who enter this zone find themselves 
in a different world — a world apart, a world 
different and unlike anything they have ever 
known before. 

In the world from which they have come 
men live to build and construct material 
things of permanent value. Here men die in 
their effort to destroy, and all they build, they 
build expecting it to be destroyed. 

I shall never forget when I first approached 
the edge of that zone called No Man's Land. 
We had pushed our car all day, hoping to 
reach headquarters before nightfall, but dark- 
ness found us many miles away. As the 
darkness deepened, we seemed to be running 
into a very bad storm, for the lightning be- 

54 



"THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN" 

came more vivid and the thunder much 
deeper. All at once it came over us that it 
was not a thunder storm, but the front in its 
awful reality that was looming up before us. 
We were stopped frequently by the sen- 
tinels along the way, who asked for our 
passes. After a moment on we went with 
a merry good-night. As we rolled through 
the villages the sentinels were constantly call- 
ing out "Douse your dims." When we came 
to Hazlebrouck we turned on the hghts of 
our car, for we had missed the road. Imme- 
diately a sentinel called out: "Dim your 
lights— Fritz has been throwing 'em over here 
tonight." 

He put us on the right road, and late 
at night we arrived at headquarters, and 
found a warm supper awaiting us. Inside 
headquarters, with the bright lights and the 
good food before us, we ahnost forgot that 
we were at the front, as we greeted old 
friends whom we had not seen for years. 
When the conversation lagged a peculiar hiss- 
ing sound caught my ear, and, upon being 
informed that "Fritz is sending over a few," 

55 



OUT THERE 

the pleasure of the supper lost many of its 
attractions. 

These men, who have been on the front 
for weeks, are bubbling over with questions. 
They ask what is going on outside, but our 
minds are not centered on the conversation. 
Instead, we are wondering how high up the 
shells are, and also questioning if Fritz is not 
hkely to drop one nearby. 

Going up and down the lines, we begin to 
get a faint idea of this strange and mys- 
terious world that we are now in. We go 
through villages, only villages by name now, 
because they have been leveled to the ground. 
We are always among men. 

We come to great ammunition dumps 
within the lines, but far enough away to be 
out from under the eye of the German 
balloons and scouting planes. Here are great 
mountains of munitions, hundreds of yards 
long, fifteen to twenty feet high, all camou- 
flaged — ^tons and tons of munitions ready for 
the thousands of big himgry guns a little 
farther up the lines. Then by the great guns 
we find hundreds of shells. For now Fritz 

56 



"THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN" 

is getting back his own medicine. Millions 
of tons of ammunition are required. 

No one who has really gone up and down 
the British lines can ever question, "What is 
Britain doing?" For there he comes to know 
that facing the British are three to four Ger- 
mans to every yard of trench, while on the 
French front there is one German to every 
yard of trench. France is holding a great 
length of trenches, but probably not keeping 
occupied a large number of German troops. 
Truly that land is a hungry and greedy land 
which has called forth an almost superhuman 
effort from Great Britain, as well as the 
other Allies, especially Great Britain, when 
we realize the unprepared condition she was 
in at the beginning. But we can grasp in 
just a small way what she has had to do 
when we glance at Mr. Lloyd George's state- 
ment in "Parliament's Vote of Thanks to the 
Forces," under date of October 29, 1917. 

"Thirteen million men have crossed and 
recrossed the seas, two milHon horses, twenty- 
five million tons of explosives and supplies, 
fifty-one million tons of coal and oil fuel for 

57 



OUT THERE 

the use of our Fleet and our Armies and to 
meet the needs of our Allies. And the losses 
in men out of the whole of the thirteen 
million during these years of war have only 
been three thousand five hundred — two thou- 
sand seven hundred of these alone through 
the action of the enemy, and the remainder 
through the ordinary perils of the sea — this 
apart from the prodigious quantity of food 
and other materials, amounting in all to one 
hundred and thirty million tons, transported 
in British ships. This indeed has been a 
great triumph for the great Navy." 

We realize that we are in a world that is 
upside down. For here men live only to kill 
and be killed. 

Going up and down the lines, it comes 
over us that war at the front is waste, waste, 
waste. The waste of munition, the waste of 
property, the waste of guns, the waste of all 
material things, and worst of all the waste 
of human life. 

This is what Germany has brought upon 
us. This is what we hold most against her. 
She has forced us into war. She has forced 

58 



"THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN" 

US to send forth our lads to kill and be killed. 
For here is an enemy that kills whether we 
fight back or don't fight back. No pacifist 
could long remain a pacifist who goes out to 
the front and realizes that we are facing an 
enemy who by her cruel system destroys 
homes, burns villages, wrecks churches and 
cathedrals, slaughters and starves innocent 
children, and in a wholesale way destroys the 
virtue of women. An enemy who sees no 
law but the law of "might is right." 

May God forgive those well-meaning peo- 
ple in our country who even yet are saying, 
'*Well, I don't think we ought to send our 
boys overseas to fight France's battle or Brit- 
ain's battle." I say forgive, for no true 
American can take such a stand if he but 
once could see for himself what has happened 
in Northern France and Flanders. He is 
either selfish and thinks only of himself and 
his family, or is coming dangerously near 
playing into the hands of our enemy. Of 
course, Germany would like America to take 
that stand. But the men from far distant 
Australia and New Zealand, Canada, Britain, 

59 



OUT THERE 

India and our own country, who have gone 
to the front, have come to realize that it is 
not the battle of the women and children of 
France we are fighting. No, we are fight-j 
ing for the women and children of the world, 
and working toward that common end of 
"making the world safe for democracy." 

Crossing the street in a tiny village in 
Flanders one rainy morning I stopped to 
watch the little kiddies who were wading and 
playing in the pools of water in the roadj 
Whiz-z-z-z-z-z — boom, a great shell lands in 
a house some two hundred yards up the 
street. As the debris and pieces of shell fly 
into the air the little kiddies scamper for the 
cover of their cellars like frightened rabbits. 
I stand horrified as I think, "What if my 
little ones were living out here instead of 
back in America? Would I consider them 
worth fighting for?" Oh! you who wonder 
at times if your boy should be sent out there! 
Suppose your little three-year-old child had 
never spent an hour of its life away from the 
roar of the cannon or bursting shells! We 
are facing an enemy who respects no treaties, 

60 




In Spite of the Mud, Slush and Boche, tlie Fun Goes on 




Where the i5ullets Always Whine 



"THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN" 

who does not recognize the rights of the weak 
and helpless. 

The men on the German side are strug- 
gling and dying, not for their homes and 
families but that a military party may gain 
world supremacy and power. 

This is quite apparent in the way she 
keeps from her own soldiers the facts regard- 
ing the war. I stood in a tent of prisoners, 
before they had even reached the little prison 
pens which are waiting for them. The day 
before I had noticed these little stockades 
with barbed wire fences which are made ready 
before every push. Into these little pens 
are gathered the prisoners as rapidly as they 
are brought in. From here they are then 
moved back out of the zone of the fighting. 

One of the prisoners spoke splendid Eng- 
lish, as he had hved in the States before the 
war. When a British sergeant called to his 
attention the fact that we were wearing the 
United States uniform, his eyes widened and 
in no fake surprise he said, "What? Amer- 
ica in the war?" We replied, "Yes, for many 
months." 

63 



OUT THERE 

He turned and told his fellow prisoners 
the fact, and every man looked astonished 
and surprised. Think of that, and America 
had been in the war months! Yet in no 
place can men be further out of touch with 
the world than in the front line trenches if 
their superior officers care to keep them in 
ignorance. That is Germany's method. 

The Allies are giving to their soldiers at 
the front all possible information on the war 
and about the war. Thousands of copies out- 
lining what the Allies are fighting for have 
been distributed among the troops. More- 
over, I was awakened one morning at the 
front near Lens by a small newspaper boy 
who wanted to sell me a London Daily Mail, 
As I unfolded the paper I heard the shells 
bursting outside. The paper contained, 
among the other news, a detailed account of 
the battle which I had witnessed two morn- 
ings before. All possible news and informa- 
tion is given to our Alhed troops. There is 
nothing that need be hidden. Ours is a just 
cause. 

As I went into the German dugouts I was 
64 



"THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN" 

forced to admire the way Fritz digs himself 
in. He is a hmnan beaver. His dugouts in 
many cases are of solid concrete reenforced 
with great railroad irons. They are built 
with greater care than those of the British, 
for it is evident that Fritz expects to stay 
in his dugouts. 

But not so with the Tonrniy. He goes 
forward and only digs himself in as much 
as is necessary for protection. This is a most 
remarkable indication of his optimism and 
spirit. He is on his way to Berlin and it 
does not pay to spend too long a time in 
making great concrete dugouts, when they 
are only transient stopping places. 

It is very wonderful, that spirit of noth- 
ing-can-stop-us that is present everywhere 
on the British front. 

In the midst of all the struggle it is re- 
markable the way they seem to be able to 
overcome the thought that they are in the 
presence of death. Going into Ypres the 
morning after the great push, I found the 
traffic terrific. The "strafing" was also quite 
intense. Shrapnel was being sent over every- 

65 



OUT THERE 

where. Glancing upward, I happened to 
see a great British captive balloon struck by 
a great shell. At once the two men jumped 
from their basket and started to make their 
descent by parachute. One landed in the 
top of a tree. As I glanced down I noticed 
in the field under them a number of men 
who were probably just back out of the line 
playing a cricket game. I did not see a 
man who looked up as the tragedy took place 
above them. Theirs is an everyday life and 
death is not the unforeseen and unexpected, 
but all in the day's work. 

Another surprise I received at the front is 
the fact that both sides almost always know 
what is going on on the other side of the 
lines. Not only do spies get word back and 
forth across that barren land, but the little 
planes are going and coming. These planes 
with their cameras are constantly taking pic- 
tures. Two hours after a picture has been 
taken, back at headquarters the film is being 
developed. If they find that the opposing 
trenches are crowded with men, and if big 
guns are being brought up into new posi- 

66 



"THE WORLD UPSIDE DOWN" 

tions, it is apparent that an offensive is on. 
The little planes by their system of taking 
pictures are acting as the eyes of the army, 
as well as directing shellfire, scouting, bomb- 
ing the enemy's lines, his reserves and what 
not. 

All the work at the front is carried on 
without apparent excitement. I recall a 
friend's telling me of messing with one very 
well-known General whom he had known for 
years. During the meal the head of the 
Intelligence Force was spreading out his pic- 
tures before the General. As he placed one 
picture before him, he said: 

"You will notice. General, by looking 
closely at that picture, an irregularity in the 
hedge fence. Of course, that might be just 
an ordinary irregularity, but wait a moment." 

He then placed another picture before the 
General. 

"You see this is another picture of the 
same thing, but you see in this the fence is 
quite regular. Now, as a matter of fact, 
that irregularity marks a big gun that has 
been brought into position." 

67 



OUT THERE 

The General quietly studied the two pic- 
tures. Quietly he said to his officer, in the 
same sort of an easy way he would have 
asked for a cup of tea: 

"Turn the guns on it this afternoon." 
It is a strange world, a world where every- 
thing seems truly upside down. But it is out 
there that the great eternal truths of life and 
death are being fought for. And, thank 
God, slowly; but surely victory is coming. 



CHAPTER V 

HELPING TO CARRY THE OLD KIT BAG AT THE 
FRONT 

Only men who have gone through the 
strain and monotony of front line work can 
comprehend its effect on men's nerves. 

That more of the men who are living in 
that atmosphere of danger, destruction and 
death do not go to pieces is to be wondered 
at. The roaring of the great guns, the 
whistling, whining bullets, the droning of 
the planes, the constant toll of human life — 
all of these things have a depressing effect, 
which is quite often expressed in the words: 

"I am jolly well fed up with it all." 

It is easy to see why, under such condi- 
tions, men develop a certain species of fatal- 
ism, which undoubtedly helps them to "carry 
on." 

Why worry? You are all right until the 
shell with your name comes over. "You 
never know your luck," is an expression 
laden with meaning. 



OUT THERE 

The strain and stress of it all have been 
tremendously lessened by the unselfish and 
Christlike services of the Y. M. C. A. 

For it is out there that men stand most 
in need not of preaching, but of ser\dce. 
The Y. M. C. A. has become a very large 
factor in the life of the British army, espe- 
cially at the front. Sir Douglas Haig has 
said, "the value of the work done by the 
Y. M. C. A. huts in France is incalculable. 
All up and down the front it is 'carrying on,' 
helping to cheer and make less weary the 
soldier's life." 

In charge of all the British Y. M. C. A. 
work in France is Mr. Oliver McCowen, a 
man of tremendous organizing power and 
foresight, of few words but enormous driving 
power. His hundreds of workers follow him 
in the deepest spirit of love and devotion. 
He is a leader in every sense of the word. 

Associated with Mr. McCowen is Mr. 
Harry Holmes, who is at the head of the 
Y. M. C. A. work on the British front. For 
two years Holmes has carried forward his 
work constantly under shellfire. During the 

70 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

first year of the war he directed the Y. M. 
C. A. work with General Smuts' army in his 
campaign in South Africa. 

In the zone of the second British army 
alone I found over one hundred Y. M. C. A. 
centers, every single hut, cellar and dugout 
swept by the broom of death. 

There are three types of work at the front: 

First, the work of these huts, or buildings, 
which are in the part of the line farthest 
removed from the actual front line trench. 
They are long, low, wooden buildings, which 
must be hidden under the trees, or camou- 
flaged, so that the (Jerman balloons, which 
hang high in the heavens, and the German 
planes, that are constantly trying to pass 
over the British lines, cannot send a signal 
which will bring over a shell. Especially 
are they in danger of being bombed by planes 
on moonlight nights. 

Into these huts the men crowd by the 
hundreds, night after night, day after day, 
to write their home letters. Quite often it 
is their last farewell letter before "going in" 
to "go over the top." They get their cup 

71 



OUT THERE 

of tea, smokes, etc., at the canteen. They 
pack the hut night after night to see the 
movies, hear the concerts, witness the wrest- 
hng and boxing matches, swap stories, and 
last, but not least, hear a religious message 
from men like Dr. John Kelman, Dr. George 
Adam, Dr. Harry Emerson Fosdick, Harry 
Lauder, Bishop Wilson, the Bishop of Lon- 
don, and other men of national reputation. 

One night I went into a great hut near 
Vimy which was packed and jammed with 
men. They were standing in the aisles and 
hanging on to the rafters. The air was blue 
with tobacco smoke. 

On the stage a musical comedy was in 
progress. Eight men and two girls were 
putting on the show. Every man in the hut 
had forgotten he was out in France as he 
listened to those two beautiful girls singing 
and watched them dance. The eyes of all 
were riveted on the stage. None of the men 
seemed to hear the hissing and screeching 
shells as they went flying over the hut back to 
the railroad station. On the front seat were 
the General and his staff. For two solid 

72 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

hours all of the men were being lifted out of 
the strain and stress of battle. 

After the show the Y. M. C. A. secretary- 
insisted on introducing me to the theatrical 
company. Imagine my surprise to find those 
eight soldiers undressing in the presence of 
those two beautiful girls, who turned out to 
be British soldiers. 

Laughing about it, the General said, "I 
can't believe it; I won't believe it." 

Night after night this company of men, 
regular soldiers, are detailed to go up and 
down the line, entertaining the men in the 
huts. 

In fact the British army, realizing the 
tremendous importance of keeping the sol- 
diers cheerful, sets aside a certain number 
of fighting men, quite often professional en- 
tertainers in civil life, whose duty it is to 
entertain the soldiers by shows, concerts, vau- 
deville, etc. Many of these companies take 
very suggestive names, such as "The Star 
Shells," "The Wizbangs," "The Very 
Lights," etc. In addition to this the Y. M. 
C. A. keeps nine professional concert parties 

73 



OUT THERE 

out in France, which are known as the Lena 
Ashwell Concert Parties. 

This work was first suggested, organized 
and provided for by Miss Ashwell, the 
actress, famous for her work with Sir Henry 
Irving and other stage celebrities. Miss Ash- 
well is among the many actors who have 
rallied nobly to the colors, doing their bit to 
help the boys "out there" "carry on." Lena 
Ashwell Concert Parties have gone every- 
where with the British armies. In France, 
in the East, up and down the Suez Canal 
they go. 

We hear of an alliance between the church 
and the theatre. Here are the people of the 
mimic world doing God's work in their own 
way. 

Men do not come to like shellfire, yet, in 
a way, they become used to it. 

One Saturday night one of the New Zea- 
land huts was very badly "strafed." When 
the shells began to fall around it, the men 
took to the dugout. The next morning the 
Secretary went back to the building and 
found one end of it demolished. The shells 

74 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

were still hissing overhead, but seated at the 
piano, which had escaped injury, was a New 
Zealand lad, with his steel helmet cocked on 
one side of his head, beating away and sing- 
ing at the top of his voice, "Pack up your 
troubles in your old kit bag, and smile, smile, 
smile!" 




Y. M. C. A. Hut Destroyed by Shell Fire in 1917 



This hut had been erected to the memory of a young Canadian 
second heutenant by his father 

A certain hut was destroyed on Whitsun- 
day, 1917. This hut had been erected to 
the memory of a young Canadian 2d Lieu- 
tenant by his father, and was completely 

75 



OUT THERE 

wrecked by shellfire. The staff of workers, 
when the "strafe" commenced, sought safety 
in a nearby dugout. 

They returned when a lull came in the 
firing. As they approached the hut to pack 
up their stores, although they realized that 
Fritz had spotted the building, they were 




The Anderson Hut, Somewhere in France 
Note the natural camouflage supplied by the trees 

greeted by the shell which fell in the middle 
of the hut, completely destroying it. 

In the devastated villages we find the sec- 
ond type of work that is being carried on 

by the Y. M. C. A. at the front 

76 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

In the cellar of some old building a Sec- 
retary has set up his canteen. Men flock 
into it by hundreds for a cup of hot tea, 
other little nicknacks, or smokes. 

In one hut tens of thousands have received 
comfort and cheer. In fact, during the win- 
ter of 1916 and 1917, over 160,000 cups of 
cocoa alone were given away in this one 
cellar. I arrived at five o'clock one after- 
noon and found over 500 men in line waiting 
to get inside for a cup of tea or some other 
simple refreshment. Day after day as many 
as 6,000 men are being served in this little 
cellar. It is located in a shell-swept area. 
It has had eight direct hits by shells. 

But the work has never stopped for a 
single day. The Secretary has arranged to 
secure all of the fresh eggs available back 
of the lines, and he sells them to the men 
at cost from his canteen. The week before 
my arrival over 25,000 eggs had been handled. 

Shortly after returning to America I was 
speaking in Spokane. During the course of 
my talk I held up the picture of this build- 
ing. A young Canadian officer who was in 

77 



OUT THERE 

the audience came up afterwards and said: 

"You will never know what that cellar 
meant to me and my men during the cold, 
bleak days last winter." 

The last general type of work being done 
by the Y. M. C. A. is at the very front, in 
the dugouts, up in the forest of barbed wire, 
up where the great hounds of hell are always 
barking, up where the bullets always whine. 
The dugouts are so stationed that the men 
pass by in going in and coming out of the 
front line trench. 

It is here the Y. M. C. A. reaches out 
and gives your boy his last helping hand 
before he goes into the front line to go "over 
the top." It is here the hand reaches out to 
give him the first human touch as he comes 
struggling painfully back from No Man's 
Land, tired and weary after his turn in the 
front line. 

I found them using German dugouts very 
largely. But there is great disadvantage to 
this. They open toward Berlin and not 
Paris, which makes them uncomfortable at 
times, especially if Fritz spots them. 

78 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

Motor cars are fitted up as soup kitchens 
and canteens for use when the troops are on 
the move. Most of the work is carried on 
at night while the troops are arriving and 
departing from the railroad stations. 

We enter the Y. M. C. A. hut nearest the 
German lines. Here we find an American 
preacher from Montclair, N. J., running the 
hut, living in a dugout under the platform 
of the building. All around the hut they are 
moving in the great howitzers, getting ready 
for the big show. The American Secretary 
has very much endeared himself to all the 
soldiers. A typical Yankee, he has proudly 
boasted that he is one of the fh'st to take the 
Stars and Stripes to No Man's Land. One 
of the officers, good-humoredly joking him 
about it, said, "You will take Old Glory 
back with you to the States to exhibit, won't 
you?" and he very cleverly replied, "Yes, if 
I don't go home to 'Glory' first." 

In advance of this hut five Y. M. C, A. 
dugouts have been destroyed within two 

months. 

The "Queen Mary Dugout" was situated 
79 



OUT THERE 



in the woods on the summit of a small ridge. 
It was no great distance from the City of 
Ypres. It is no exaggeration tp say that 
this district has been the scene of some of the 
hardest fighting on the Ypres salient. Many 
a British soldier remembers it with good cause. 




Entrance to the Queen Alexandria Dugout 
Eeing very busy one day, help was sent 
for from a neighboring Y. M. C. A. dug- 
out, and two or three orderlies tossed up to 
see who was to go. The man who went was 
crushed to death imder the iron side of the 
dugout when it was shattered by the direct 
hit of a shell some two hours later. 

The Queen Alexandria dugout was quite 
80 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

close to the Queen Mary dugout and was 
"knocked out" during the same bombard- 
ment. The Queen Alexandria dugout dis- 
tributed free cocoa to working parties who 
were pasing to and fro from the front lines 
during the long, trying winter of 1916-17. 
Many a Y. M. C. A. secretary and worker 




'UA.-'f^' 



Interior of the Queen Alexandria Dugout After Bom- 
bardment 

has "gone west." At the front no man has a 
"Safety First" passport. 

Here are the directions and orders given 
out by the Directing Y. M. C. A. Secretary 
of one of the armies to his workers. He 
never meant them to be published, but I do 

81 



OUT THERE 

not feel I shall be breaking faith with him 
if I publish them now. They show in a 
splendid way the spirit and the work of the 
Red Triangle workers. I also believe that 
our people at home will greatly appreciate 
knowing what care is being taken to help 
the lads carry the Old Kit Bag. 

Construction and Operation of Y. M. C. A. 
Dugouts 
Construction. 

Types of Dugouts. — The type of dugout will 
depend very largely upon the nature of the area, 
whether it is open country or village. If the 
former, the most satisfactory type is that built of 
pit props, steel rails, con*ugated iron and sand- 
bagging. A dugout 18' X 12', which is a good size 
for our purposes, would need 12' 8" pit props, 
four heavy steel rails, if possible sufficient iron 
to cover roof and sides (though sandbagging the 
sides is satisfactory if the roof laps well over 
the sides), and two thousand sandbags. The 
dugout should be built in an excavation of the 
highest available cliff or bank, away from enemy 
gunfire, and it is wise to remember that the angle 
of descent of howitzer shells is very steep, almost 
perpendicular, so too much shelter cannot be had. 

If available, a lining of tar-paper during win- 
ter months will mean the saving of stock from 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

dampness. A board floor or bath mats help in this 
respect. Bunks for the staff should be con- 
structed one above the other and the use of boxes 
arranged in tiers is far superior to shelves both 
for quick service and the saving of space. 

A large open space for serving is desirable for 
speed, so that when necessary even three can 
work in comfort. Flaps can be built to cover 
part of the space during slack time. In village 
areas cellars are always available for use and are 
very satisfactory. The roofs of all French cellars 
are of steel rail and brick construction. It is 
good policy, however, to reinforce them with pit 
props and heavy planks, if much material is to 
be thrown on top, for protection. It is usually 
possible to get two rooms adjoining each other, 
using one for canteen and one for tea room, and 
having separate entrance and exit from the street 
above. A coat of white paint lightens up the 
place and adds a cheering aspect to what is other- 
wise a dull and depressing hole. 

Location of Dugouts. — As a general principle 
it is best to put the plant where the men are, 
rather than have them travel to the plant, as often 
this means traffic over places where it is highly 
undesirable to have movement of any kind. After 
that the things to keep in mind are observation 
by the enemy, transportation facilities, and prox- 
imity of water. Railroad transportation is the 
best, if available; water can be taken from wells 
83 



OUT THERE 

or hauled by water carts, but the new system of 
water mains being put through, can be tapped at 
any point if accessible to the plant. 

It is well to avoid crossroads and junctions of 
roads with railroad lines, as such points are 
likely to be shelled frequently. Move along fifty 
yards or so. 

The average Divisional front needs from four 
to six dugouts to have it properly covered, and 
in addition there should be, farther back, two or 
three tea stalls on roads which carry the bulk of 
the traffic. No stock should be carried in these 
stalls, or undesirable congestion will occur. Split 
the distance from front line to rest area so that 
the cup of tea will be available at regular points 
on the way up and back for troops going in or 
out. In general the farthest forward dugouts 
should be close enough so that men can be sent 
back from the front line for goods. Near the 
ration dump is usually a good place — ^the dugouts 
farther back will cover troops in support and 
batteries. Whenever possible, dugouts should be 
near to dressing stations and advanced aid posts 
so that during intensive operations wounded 
can be taken care of where they will naturally con- 
gregate for treatment or for transportation to 
the rear. 

Operation. 

Dugouts should be open at all times. 

Number of Men. — Three men are sufficient for 

84 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

the average dugout, but four are often necessary. 
Over-staffing is bad, as space is limited and the 
work usually not as well done. 

Type of Goods. — No "dud" stock should be 
sent forward. To the farthest forward places the 
best goods are biscuits, fruit, chocolate and cig- 
arettes. Other things can be added if transport 
is easily available, but such things as shoe black- 
ing and brass polish should be tabooed. Com- 
forts should all go forward and be used with 
discretion. Newspapers, if regularly delivered 
and on time, are a great boon; they should be 
delivered to the billets containing large numbers 
of men at once. Stale news is no news. Do not 
display papers on or near dugouts. Officers get 
papers up with rations, so our supply should go 
direct to the men. A plentiful supply of writing 
paper and envelopes is imperative, especially 
where men are occupying village areas, where they 
have cellar accommodations, tables and chairs and 
every facility for letter-writing. 

Lighting. — Candles are not satisfactory as 
lights. They soon mess everything up and are 
not steady enough in draughty places. Oil lamps 
are by far the best. Petrol cans with the words 
"Canteen" above and "tea" below and a big "Y" 
in the center cut out of the sides and faced with 
dark red paper make good night signs. 

Advertising. — In addition to the night lights, 
abundance of Y. M. C. A. pointers should be well 

85 



OUT THERE 

placed forward in trenches, making the location 
of the "Y" definite; e. g., "Y. M. C. A., in Clucas 
trench 200 yds." Enamel signs for the dugouts 
themselves are the best. In Y. M. C. A. plants 
at the rear a hst giving location of forward dug- 
outs should always be posted in a conspicuous 
place. 

Control of Dugout Staffs. — The forward officer 
should be entirely in charge of the dugout staffs. 
He should move them around as he sees fit and 
arrange with the senior officer for reliefs, which 
should take place every two weeks. The front 
line work should be advocated as a privilege and 
conducted in that spirit. 

Pushes. — When military operations of impor- 
tance are in progress, at the places farthest up 
an extra equipment for making tea should be 
available, and biscuits, chocolate and cigarettes 
should be packed in sandbags ready to be moved 
forward in case of any considerable advance. 
Petrol cans for packing of water should always be 
in readiness. The first care during a "show" are 
wounded men. If the dugout is not sufficiently 
near nor strategically situated to catch the 
wounded, a temporary place may be set up at or 
near the dressing station for the first forty-eight 
hours of the operations to dispense tea, biscuits 
and cigarettes. Runners and ration parties 
should be used to get stuff through to the men in 
their new positions if an advance has been made. 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

Cartons of cigarettes and sandbags full of bis- 
cuits will gladly be carried through by these 
means. As soon as possible the foi-ward officer, 
who should keep himself free for this purpose, 
should go through with a picked party, carrying 
tea-making equipment and goods, and a post be 
established as near to the new front line as feasible. 
Water should be packed across until a tested sup- 
ply is found forward. It is well to avoid old 
German dugouts till they have been examined and 
marked by engineers, but shelters of some kind 
can be found or hastily constructed in which to 
carry on. Food containers are available in 
which to pack tea to the men in the new positions, 
other goods going forward in sandbags. The 
forty-eight hours after a successful show are the 
best hours to follow up, as enemy guns are being 
hauled back and retaliatory shelling and barrag- 
ing is not usually heavy. As soon as the enemy 
machine guns have been silenced, an advance can 
be made fairly safely. It is much better to carry 
the tea and goods to the men and thus prevent 
them from leaving their posts and congregating 
around the "Y." Usually about four days after 
an advance the troops are relieved, and this is 
the final service of the actual push, in which we 
take part. It should be possible for every man 
being relieved to get a hot drink several times 
from the front line to rear billets. Arriving at 
the latter, any comforts on hand will be of great 

87 



OUT THERE 

service, especially under winter conditions. This 
is particularly true of socks. 

Forward Officer. — The Forward Y. M. C. A. 
OjfBcer should live up forward. He will learn 
much more and get far more familiar with the 
area and his staffs will respond to his wishes far 
better if he is actually playing the game close to 
them. 

Other Officers, — While it is desirable that all 
the "Y" officers of the division should visit and 
familiarize themselves with the forward area, such 
visits should be made with the Forward Officer, 
who is familiar with dangerous places and can 
explain the significant points about the area. 
Touring as such by officers is to be condemned, 
as they are likely to make mistakes of judgment in 
rendering themselves open to observation at crit- 
ical points to the danger of men living in the area. 

Spirit of Service. — The way in which the goods 
we distribute free are given out is more important 
than the fact that we have such things to dis- 
tribute; this, of course, is true at the rear as well 
as forward. Yet it is more important forward, 
where our men are likely to be nervous and wor- 
ried, and thus fail to appreciate the chances 
offered. The cheery word and smile that should 
go with the tea and comforts are invaluable where 
men are under the pressure of discomfort and 
dangers. 

In Conclusion. — All areas differ and each needs 

88 



THE OLD KIT BAG 

diiferent treatment. To work out on a plain 
under direct observation from enemy balloons is 
very different from working behind a ridge. The 
thing to remember is that up forward we must 
play the game, having in mind the objects which 
the Military Authorities are seeking to attain. 
They will be glad to have us under those condi- 
tions, not otherwise. 



CHAPTER VI 



"where suffering lips are dumb" 



The first year I went to the war, I went 
feeling that there would be one group of 
men to whom I would find it difficult to 
speak — the men who had gone down and out 
with wounds that would forever put them out 
of the game of life. The strange thing is, I 
found the easiest men to speak to in all the 
zone are the men who bear on their bodies 
the scars of the love they bear their country. 
They have faced eternity and have come out 
with the realization that there are things 
more dreadful than death with honor. 

That first year I went into one of the great 
hospitals. We went into a ward where all 
the men had made one of the greatest sacri- 
fices. Their eyes were bhnded. 

Yet I have never seen a more cheerful 
group of men. Never have I been with men 
who were so hopeful. I turned to my friend, 
the head of the hospital, and said: 

90 



"SUFFERING LIPS ARE DUMB'' 

"Well, this is remarkable. I never met 
men so cheerful." 

He said: 

"Isn't that a strange thing — one of the 
world's greatest experts on the blind was 
here the other day and he made that same 
remark. Sitting near by was a blind lad 
who heard him, and forgetting his disci- 
pline, he said, 'Sir, you just wait until you 
see the stout Madonna.' " 

A moment later I saw her. She weighed 
about two hundred and fifty, but if you could 
have weighed her heart it would have weighed 
a thousand pounds. Every fellow in that 
ward had come into the great big warmth of 
the heart of that matron, and in her face 
was reflected the spirit of the Madonna. She 
was daily giving of herself to these brave 
lads. She was teaching them to see anew 
with their hands, and not their eyes. She 
was giving them a new lease on life, and 
hope for the days to come, even though eyes 
were blinded. She was helping to carry their 
burdens. After all, I have come to realize, 
after having gone in and out of the zone, that 

91 



OUT THERE 

all the heroes are not in the firing line, not for 
one minute. 

The heroes are the mothers, and the wives, 
and the sisters, and the nurses who are car- 
rying forward this battle. France today 
could not go forward one single hour if it 
were not for the women of France — ^the mar- 
velous women of France. 

I have seen them send their boys and 
fathers away with a smile on their lips, and 
that was in the days when it was darkest 
and they knew there was no coming back. 
Then was when the cloud was really dark. 

One afternoon during my first journey 
into the war zone I was speaking in one of 
the great training camps in England. 

A very prominent English lady, who was 
in the camp as a canteen worker, invited in 
all of the imiversity men in one of the Ca- 
nadian units to a Sunday afternoon tea, at 
which I was asked to speak. There gath- 
ered into the hut that afternoon some three 
hundred university men, all of them privates 
and non-conmiissioned officers. 

The program was put on by the men them- 
92 



"SUFFERING LIPS ARE DUMB" 

selves. Especially was I much impressed by 
the singing of one of the privates. Upon 
inquiry I found out that before the war he 
had been the soloist in one of the largest 
churches in all Canada. 

After I had talked with the men for some 
time they insisted upon hearing from their 
hostess of the afternoon. After repeated 
applause she came to the platform. The 
appreciation of the men for her kindness 
was very marked indeed. In speaking to 
them she said, "It has been very little that I 
have done for you this afternoon. However, 
I have tried to do for you what I know some 
other mothers have tried to do for my two 
boys — one of them 'went home' from the 
trenches last week, the other is over at the 
front now." 

As she spoke of the death of her first son 
in such a quiet way I could not help f eehng 
that she was as truly helping to carry forth 
the war as the men who are doing their bit at 
the front. 

Throughout the war zone I found the 
mothers and wives quietly carrying their bur- 

93 



OUT THERE 

dens. However, it is the exceptional home 
that has not been touched by the supreme 
sacrifice. Instead of giving themselves up to 
grief, I found everywhere that the women 
have come forward to carry their share of 
the load. Thousands of them are going into 
the munition factories, thousands went on 
the farms in order to relieve the men for 
war duty. 

A Brigadier General told me that the day 
Britain declared war his wife sent away all 
of the servants and from that time to this 
has been doing her own work. In addition 
she went to one of the large Y. M. C. A.'s 
in London, there to cook four to five hun- 
dred suppers every night for the boys as 
they passed through London going to or 
returning from the front. She worked in 
the huts for some two years, at the end of 
which time her health was so broken it was 
necessary for her to stop work there. But 
she did not stop work entirely, because she 
went immediately to a little farm so as to 
help there and at the same time build up 
her strength. 

94 



"SUFFERING LIPS ARE DUMB" 

I have no question but that the American 
women will prove just as worthy as have 
the marvelous British and French women. 

Entering the ward of a large base hospital 
I noticed a chap, with his cane in hand, 
pounding his way across the ward, teaching 
the other lad how to get about. 

I walked up to them and started to talk. 
I certainly had not meant to say one sad 
or sympathetic word, because their load was 
heavy enough without having some one try 
to sympathize and pity them. I was trying 
to speak cheerfully, but the fellow possibly 
caught in my voice a little bit of sympathy. 
I said: 

"How long have you been here?" 

One fellow said: 

"Six months, sir." 

Turning to the other: 

"How long have you been here?" 

"Three days. It happened, sir, six days 
ago over in Flanders." 

The boy who had been there six months 
possibly caught in my voice a little sympa- 
thy — and he did not want it. He let go the 

95 



OUT THERE 

hand of his friend, threw back his shoulders, 
tried to focus his stone eyes on me, and said: 

**Mister, it is not so bad when you get 
used to it," 

That is the spirit of the men overseas, 
"Not so bad when you get used to it." 

And I have come back saying that this 
war must be won; and it will be won when 
men throw back their shoulders and, with 
blinded eyes, say, "It is not so bad when 
you get used to it." 

I have seen them dragging themselves back 
out of the hne suffering the tortures of hell, 
but no moaning or groaning. Yes, I have 
stood by the stretchers where they were first 
put down after the trip back from No Man's 
Land. The bloodshot and pleading eyes 
told the story. Their lips were silent. Suf- 
fering lips are dumb. "Out there" bodies are 
shattered, but their souls are coming to great 
heights, for through their sacrifices and suf- 
fering men are learning the road to the cross. 

Oh, but the honest pride with which they 
carry their wounds! 

I recall one night, after speaking in a 
96 



"SUFFERING LIPS ARE DUMB" 

great convalescent camp, a Canadian lad 
came limping forward and said: 

"Mister, you know I learned what prayer 
meant in the trenches, for I tell you a fellow 
can pray when he is lying in a shellhole with 
the bullets whizzing and zipping around him." 

Then, in the same spirit and with a deep 
pride in his voice: 

"Don't you want to see my wounds?" 

He bared his leg, which had been torn with 
shrapnel shell. Off came his coat, and as he 
hfted his shirt, I looked on a side which had 
been torn and mangled by shrapnel shell, 
leaving a deep scar, which would send him 
back a physical wreck. 

But as I looked into his face and saw the 
look of personal victory over physical pain, 
I gripped him by the hand and said: 

"My good man, when you go back to Can- 
ada, back to your home, you need not tell 
them that you love your country, that you 
love your home, that you love your God — 
^ust show them your scars." 

He bore on his body the marks of the sac- 
rifice and love which he carried in his heart 
for the deep and sacred things of life. 

97 



OUT THERE 

In the same convalescent camp another sol- 
dier came up after I had ceased speaking, 
and told me that he would soon be mustered 
out of the hospital, unfit for service. Then 
he said, with the pull of home strong upon 
him: 

"I want you to see the picture of my 
family." 

Reaching into his pocket he brought out 
an old, dirty, torn Testament and, opening 
it, showed me the picture of his wife and the 
five little ones back in Canada waiting for 
him. Looking at the picture and then at 
him, I said: 

"What's that little book you have there?" 
A look of amazement came over his face: 
"Why, don't you know? — that's a Testa- 
ment." 

"I thought it was. Do you ever read it?" 
Over his face there swept a marvelous ex- 
pression of joy — he gripped the Testament 
until the veins stood out on his hand, and 
looking at me, with tears coming into his 
eyes, said: 

"Man — it's all I had during those days of 
hell in the trenches!" 

98 



CHAPTER VII 

"l WAS SICK AND IN PEISON AND YE CAME 
UNTO me" 

In all the war zone there is no more lonely, 
God forsaken, more-to-be-pitied group of men 
than the prisoners of war. 

They are herded into stockades by the thou- 
sands, there to remain in many instances im- 
til death puts an end to their misery. 

These stockades are surrounded by great 
barbed-wire fences, some twenty feet in height. 
Into the camps have been massed literally 
thousands of men. In the Teutonic countries 
in some cases as many as seventy thousand 
men are in one camp. Already in the prison 
camps of the different countries are massed 
more than three times as many men as have 
ever been engaged in any war prior to this 
one. They are rapidly approaching seven mil- 
lion prisoners. 

A large proportion of the prisoners cap- 
tured in this war have been taken by Ger- 

99 



OUT THERE 

many and Austria in the early part of the war. 

The American Ambassador has, in his book, 
"My Four Years in Germany," told a story 
which in a small way brings to the minds of 
the American people the dreadful state of 
affairs in many of the prison camps in Aus- 
tria and Germany. Thousands of men have 
died of typhus and from lack of medical at- 
tention; large numbers, because of the in- 
sufficient amount of food that has been given 
to them, have literally sickened and died be- 
cause of improper nourishment. 

Possibly the food conditions in the Hun 
prison camps have been due to the fact that 
both Germany and Austria are in dire need 
of food. With their type of mind it is quite 
to be expected that the prisoners in their midst 
shall be allowed to go hungry and permitted 
to suffer in order to save food for the civil 
population. 

As the great military chain tightens around 
Austria and Germany we shall hear of far 
more frightful conditions in the prison camps 
than we have yet dreamed of. 

As one of the leading statesmen of Ger- 
100 



"YE CAME UNTO ME" 

many said to a friend of mine just before 
America went into the war, and before my 
friend left Germany: 

"Herr , the AUies say they are going to 

starve us. They can try it, but before they 
starve Germany there are millions of the Allies 
(he was referring to the civilians in invaded 
Belgium, Servia, Russia and Northern 
France) within the borders of Germany who 
will starve before Germany starves." 

We are dealing with an enemy that will 
stop at no method of brutality in her effort 
to win the war. 

In the face of all the reports that have come 
out of Germany with regard to the manner 
in which they are treating our prisoners, I 
would have my readers know the true facts 
as to the way in which the Allies are treating 
their prisoners. 

One cold, bleak autumn day I made my 
first visit to a great prison camp. The camp 
nestled in a little valley among the great 
Highlands of Scotland. It was a blustery, 
rainy day. 

The soldiers who were detailed to guard the 
101 



OUT THERE 

camp were living outside the prison fence in 
tents that were far from comfortable. The 
guards, as they marched back and forth, were 
chilled through from the cold rain. The work 
of the guards is a most unpleasant duty, far 
away from the excitement and tension of the 
battle line. 

I stood fairly amazed as I viewed the bar- 
racks in which the prisoners were living. 
Long, low, wooden barracks fitted up most 
comfortably, sanitation perfect, and heated 
inside by stoves. 

Even though it was raining, a large num- 
ber of the prisoners had gathered out in the 
yard of the prison camp to witness a football 
game which was going on among them. 

Certainly these men had little to complain 
of. Their food was wholesome, their bar- 
racks comfortable, and the care with which 
they were being looked after by the Com- 
mandant of the camp reminded one more of 
the care that an officer gives to his own men. 

Later it was my privilege to visit many of 
the prison camps in Britain, and in every 
single one I found the men living in clean, 

102 



"YE CAME UNTO ME" 

wholesome, sanitary buildings. Inasmuch as 
that was during the first and second years of 
the war I found them receiving plenty of 
white bread. The food in general was of the 
very best quality and there was abundance for 
all. 

In all of the prison camps adequate ar- 
rangements had been made for athletics and 
games of all sorts, music and recreation. 

In compliance with the regulations regard- 
ing the treatment of prisoners I found all offi- 
cers in barracks by themselves. 

Before going to the front I was much 
amused one afternoon in Alexandria, Egypt, 
to find a prison camp which they called the 
Turkish Officers' Rest Camp. The camp 
was built right on the seashore so that the 
barbed-wire fence went out into the water. 
By this means the Turkish Officers had the op- 
portunity for surf bathing, and ever so often 
the prisoners from Cairo and other parts were 
brought to Alexandria for a month to what 
they call the rest camp. Giving prisoners a 
vacation was an entirely new thought to me. 

Great as was my astonishment at the Chris- 
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OUT THERE 

tian treatment that Britain was giving her 
prisoners it all faded into insignificance when 
I saw the marvelous way in which the Ger- 
man prisoners are treated at the British front. 

Going along the battle front the day before 
a battle I asked my friend: 

"What are these little stockades?" 

Ever so often, within the line, I found small 
stockades surrounded by barbed-wire fences 
some six feet high — all of them empty. My 
friend replied: 

"Those are for the prisoners who will be 
captured tomorrow morning," 

The next morning as I stood in an old dug- 
out and saw the men streaming down the 
"Path of the Walking Wounded" I could not 
believe what my eyes were actually seeing. 
Here comes a wounded Tommy, struggling 
along, but around his neck is the arm of a 
German prisoner who is severely wounded. 
The British soldier is helping him back to 
the hospital. 

Here come two wounded soldiers, and in 
between them they are supporting a wounded 
Boche. 

104 



"YE CAME UNTO ME" 

As they stop at the Y. M. C. A. dugout, 
in every single instance I saw the British 
Tommy give his prisoner the cup of tea or the 
"fag" as it was handed out to them by the 
Y. M. C. A. 

But it was outside the dressing stations 
where I received my greatest surprise. Here, 
congregated among the wounded British, 
were also the German walking wounded pris- 
oners. Among all of the hundreds of 
wounded Germans that I saw outside the 
station I did not see a single British soldier 
by look, or by act, or by inference, mistreat a 
single German prisoner. On the contrary, 
I saw Tommy after Tommy, no matter how 
badly wounded, as he received his cup of tea 
in the Y. M. C. A. tent, turn and give it to 
his wounded enemy. I saw them give their 
wounded prisoners their own cigarettes, before 
they smoked one themselves. I saw them 
give their bowls of soup, their biscuits, their 
chocolate. 

Never will I forget standing beside one 
young English lad who was badly wounded. 
In addition he had been gassed. As I came 

105 



OUT THERE 

up his whole attention was centered on a Ger- 
man lad who could not have been over seven- 
teen. The German boy's eye had been shot 
away. An old dirty handkerchief had been 
stuffed into the wound to stop the flow of 
blood. The poor chap was shaking from head 
to foot as a tree might shake in an awful 
storm. In addition to his wound he had one 
of the worst cases of shell shock I have ever 
seen. The young British lad, as he looked on 
his enemy with compassion and pity, forgot 
his own wounds. Turning to me, he said: 

"Poor devil — Hain't hit too bad, 'e got 'is 
all right!" 

Whenever I hear anyone say that war 
brutalizes men I think of standing outside 
those dressing stations beholding the British 
soldiers forgiving their enemies and doing 
good unto those who had despitefuUy used 
them. 

Only a matter of a few hours before they 
had gone into that hell and had faced thou- 
sands of enemies. Now, out from the front 
line, back from "No Man's Land," they have 
forgotten their hatred, have forgiven their 

106 



"YE CAME UNTO ME" 

enemies and are dealing in kindness with those 
who undoubtedly would not have given them 
a cup of cold water had they been captives. 

I saw the stretcher bearers bringing in the 
men who could no longer help themselves, I 
saw them bringing in the German wounded 
along witli their own. They bring in the 
enemy as they would bring in their own 
brothers. 

If our lads can come out of the line and 
treat their prisoners as I saw the British do, 
after having faced them in the hand-to-hand 
death grapple, I am forced to say: 

"Thank God! War does not brutalize. 
Idealism is uppermost." 

I can almost hear some of my readers say- 
ing: 

"This is awful. Why do they treat the 
prisoners so well?" 

Well might such a question be asked. But 
stop — we are fighting not with the thought of 
merely ending this war, but that war shall 
cease and vanish from the face of the earth. 
And of the thousands of prisoners captured, 
practically all will be going back to their own 

107 



OUT THERE 

country, there to tell of the Christlike treat- 
ment they received at the hands of their 
enemy. These men will be going to all parts 
of the German and Austrian Empires. Such 
treatment as is being accorded them is bound 
to have its effect on the whole German popu- 
lation after the war. Ours is a war not for 
retaliation — not a war of hate — but a war for 
democracy. 

There came past one of the Y. M. C. A. 
dugouts one afternoon an Australian Officer 
with a small guard, in charge of a number 
of German prisoners. As they stopped for 
their cup of tea the Australian Officer laugh- 
ingly said: 

"Now, boys, let the guests have their tea 
first." 

Compare such treatment as this with the 
treatment that our unfortunate lads have re- 
ceived who have been captured by the enemy. 

It was not my privilege to see the French 
Camps, or the German prisoners coming into 
the French camps, but I understand that 
France has given them the same kind and 
considerate treatment. 

108 



"YE CAME UNTO ME" 

After the war these prisoners are going 
back to tell the true story of the treatment 
which they received. In all the world's his- 
tory there is no more remarkable story of un- 
selfish and Christlike service than that which 
has been and is being rendered in all of the 
prisoners' camps (save in Turkey) by the 
Y. M. C. A. under the marvelous leadership 
of Dr. John R. Mott. 

Scarcely had the war started and the prison 
camps commenced to fill when Dr. Mott vis- 
ited the war zone. He visited both sides of 
the conflict and laid the foundation for a 
work which will never be forgotten by a mul- 
titude of grateful men. The Y. M. C. A. 
men have gone to both sides of the conflict, 
there to organize the work of the Y. M. C. A. 
in the prison camps. 

It is difficult for us in America to reahze 
the awful monotony of prison camp life even 
at its best, not to think of it at its worst — 
thousands and thousands of men, day after 
day, never able to turn their eyes that they 
do not face crowds, never able to sleep that 
they are not touching the body of another 

109 



OUT THERE 

man! When they turn to look outside the 
prison camp, their eyes rest upon the guard 
with the loaded rifle and glistening bayonet. 
It is no wonder that insanity is one of the 
elements that must be fought against most 
tenaciously. 

The Y. M. C. A. Secretaries have gone into 
the different prison camps to help the pris- 
oners help themselves. Lumber has been 
taken in to build Y. M. C. A. huts. The pris- 
oners are of all kinds. All that needs to be 
furnished is the material and the prisoners 
will do the work. 

But, once the building is up, the work of 
the Y. M. C. A. in the prison camp is only 
commenced. Athletic equipment is provided 
so that the men can exercise. Musical instru- 
ments have been taken in with a view of or- 
ganizing orchestras and bands. Educational 
classes have been formed in order that the 
prisoners may improve their minds; and in 
many instances food has been given to thou- 
sands of men who could not have endured the 
prison diet. Thousands and tens of thousands 
of men have been enrolled in the educational 

110 



"YE CAME UNTO ME" 

classes. For example, in one camp alone more 
than five thousand Germans were daily study- 
ing English. In many of the prison camps a 
full college curriculum has been introduced, 
because among the prisoners are college pro- 
fessors who can teach the classes. There are 
many colleges in the prison camps where the 
attendance exceeds the number of students 
enrolled at Yale or Harvard Universities. 

Even though America is at war, the work 
for prisoners in Germany and Austria has 
been continued with the consent of the Ger- 
man War Office. The American secretaries 
have been withdrawn and replaced by secre- 
taries from Sweden, Switzerland, Denmark 
and other neutral countries. 

In one small prison camp for officers, with 
less than three hundred officers in the camp, 
more than two hundred and fifty were en- 
rolled in the following language classes: 
French, Spanish, Italian, English and Rus- 
sian. 

One Secretary writes, regarding the educa- 
tional work: 

"You cannot imagine the joy of the men 
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OUT THERE 

who for the first time in their lives are able 
to write to their families. It is like making 
the dumb to speak." 

The work has been carried on imder some 
very difficult circumstances. The following is 
an excerpt from a letter of Mr. Marshall 
Bartholomew, one of the American secretaries 
who, in a most remarkable way, has carried 
on the work among the prisoners in Siberia: 

"It is simply impossible to describe the 
penetrating qualities of Siberian cold. Yes- 
terday was thirty- four below zero with a high 
wind and considerable snow and today was 
forty-three below, but without much wind. 
Last night, in driving in from a neighboring 
camp, my driver froze both cheeks and one 
side of his nose, and today my second driver 
froze his nose in a five-hour sleigh ride. My 
equipment of high felt boots with cork soles, 
a fur coat and fur cap and a fur rug keeps 
me from reaching a point of complete frigid- 
ity, but it isn't the sort of thing one would 
choose for a pleasure jaunt." 

The work among all the prisoners has been 
carried on without any thought being given to 

112 



**YE CAME UNTO ME" 

creed or race — Protestants, Catholics, Jews, 
Members of the Greek Church, Hindoos, Mo- 
hammedans, and all have carried on their re- 
ligious services in the Y. M. C. A. huts. 

Millions of men in the prison camps, who 
have been administered to by the Y. M. C. A. 
representatives, can say from true hearts : 

"I was sick and in prison and ye came unto 
me." 



CHAPTER VIII 



"in the melting pot" 



Early in the year 1914 I was the guest 
of one of the best known men in Canada. At 
the luncheon, in addition to my host, were 
three other very prominent Canadians. My 
host made the statement that he could not 
but feel that the British Empire was rapidly 
disintegrating, that the ties which bound Can- 
ada to the mother country were very slight 
indeed; that Australia was rapidly coming 
to the place where she would be entirely out 
of the Empire; that India was restless and 
calling for home rule; and that Ireland was 
rapidly approaching a revolution. He closed 
his discourse by stating that he truly believed 
the Great British Empire would go the road 
of the great Roman Empire in less than a 
year. 

Behold what a change! Germany has in- 
terpreted such statements as the above to 

114 



"IN THE MELTING POT" 

mean that now was the time to make her at- 
tempt for world supremacy. To all intents 
and purposes it certainly seemed that she was 
guessing right. But she did not know the 
true heart of the Briton. 

No sooner had war been declared than Can- 
ada, without waiting for the mother country, 
had called for volunteers. Her troops were 
on their way to Europe almost over night. 
Australia and New Zealand immediately came 
forward. India, to the surprise of many 
English statesmen, offered her wealth and 
men in defense of the Empire. 

In fact, as Mr. Lloyd George has so well 
stated : 

"The Germans have made many miscalcula- 
tions in this war, but I think that which must 
have caused them the most acute disappoint- 
ment was the spectacle which was seen when, 
at the beginning of the war there rallied round 
this country the armed contingents, both 
European and native, from our Dominions 
all over the world. These people realized 
with unerring instinct the nature of the is- 
sues which were involved. They saw that the 

115 



OUT THERE 

British Empire was in danger, and that if it 
perished there would go with it the guaran- 
tees for their own free and contented exis- 
tence. They never minded that the war was 
thousands of miles away, and that their coun- 
try was not invaded, and, indeed, that no por- 
tion of the British Empire was invaded. They 
never thought of the dangers that were to be 
encountered or the lives that might be laid 
down. From all parts of the world the great 
greyhounds came coursing across the sea 
carrying to the battlefield the men of many 
races, religions and climes." 

During the first three years of the war 
Canada has sent something like three hundred 
and fifty thousand men for overseas service; 
Australia has sent some three hundred thou- 
sand; New Zealand one hundred and twenty 
thousand; South Africa fifty thousand, and 
Newfoundland forty thousand; while from 
India have been offered many thousands 
more. 

In spite of all the German propaganda in 
America to the effect that England has let 
the Colonies carry the load, the Mother Coun- 

116 



"IN THE MELTING POT" 

try has contributed seventy-five per cent of 
the armies of the Empire. 

In 1915 when I went into the great train- 
ing camps of Britain I found that there and 
on the battlefields of Flanders was being 
welded a greater and bigger Empire than 
ever had been dreamed of. For, truly in the 
great training camps men were being purged 
of class distinction, of racial bigotry and sec- 
tional selfishness. In fact, there was being 
moulded a greater and truer democracy. 
Men of all classes and walks in life had rushed 
to the colors, because Britain has produced the 
greatest volunteer army in the history of the 
world. 

I remember speaking one night to a bat- 
talion where every lad in the camp had en- 
listed from the public schools. That same 
evening I spoke to a battalion where every 
man had his own private income — ^they were 
termed the "Sportsmen's BattaKon." In that 
same battalion I recall one man, a prominent 
barrister, who, as soon as war was declared, 
went forward, misstating facts regarding his 
age in order to get into the army; giving up 

117 



OUT THERE 

a thirty-five-thousand-doUar income for his 
one bob a day from the British Government. 
And when taken to task as to why he did not 
go in for a commission he said: 

"I would have you know that I would pre- 
fer to win my commission." 

One Sunday morning I watched three thou- 
sand men file into the old Cathedral of Can- 
terbury. I saw them kneel as they were led 
in prayer at the last religious service they 
would participate in before they went out to 
France the next day. In the evening I was 
talking to the man who had conducted the 
service that morning — (Parson Adams as he 
was referred to in loving terms by his men) — 
my speaking of his service made him look at 
me vdth surprise on his face and say that he 
could not do otherwise. "When the war came 
we locked our home — my wife went off to 
serve in a hospital in France, my daughter is 
in a hospital here in England — my son at the 
Dardanelles — and I am going off to France 
with the Brigade. We will not unlock our 
home until the war is over." 

The British Army has become the melting 
118 



"IN THE MELTING POT" 

pot of the Empire, for Britain has learned 
that in order to win the war all personal de- 
sires must be shoved aside. 

Politicians had to go, self seekers were 
"downed," and real statesmen brought forth. 
Who would have dreamed, the latter part of 
July, 1914, that Mr. Lloyd George, "the 
petty Welsh lawyer," as he was so many times 
referred to, would become the great leader of 
the Empire. 

The war has become the crucible of democ- 
racy. 

Russian autocracy has had to go, and even 
though Russia at the present time is strug- 
gling forward like a great, suddenly awakened 
giant who is just beginning to find his 
strength, she eventually will come into her 
own. She can never go back to what she 
was before the war. 

We shall find that the war will do for 
America what it has been doing for Britain — 
true social democracy is bound to come forth. 
For in the camp the millionaire marches be- 
side the pauper, the university man beside the 
foreigner who cannot speak a word of Eng- 

119 



OUT THERE 

lish. But all are coming to a better under- 
standing of one another. 

One night after I had spoken in one of the 
great American training camps, men of some 
twelve different nationalities came up to shake 
hands with me. These lads, when they come 
back from the war, will no longer be Russians, 
Italians, French. They will all come back 
bigger and better Americans. 

In the camps all of them will learn English 
and have an opportunity for educational ad- 
vancement. All of them are getting a better 
understanding of what the great American 
Republic stands for. 

Those who doubt the value of religion in 
men's lives need only visit the great army 
camps, or go up and down the Western front. 
The men are constantly searching after the 
deeper and bigger things of hfe. 

I shall never forget going one night into 
one of the great training camps where were 
many of those who were then known as 
"Kitchener's Mob." It was Sunday night, 
and raining in torrents. As I came into the 
great Y. M. C. A. tent where I was to speak, 

120 



"IN THE MELTING POT" 

I found it packed with men. I decided that 
the rain had brought them in because it was 
practically the only place in camp where they 
could get in out of the wet. Not only was 
every bit of space in the tent jammed with 
men, but they were sitting on the platform 
and the aisles were crowded. They were 
standing under the eaves of the tent. It was 
one great mass of men. 

The Secretary whispered in my ear saying: 

"Now, look out. You can't talk religion 
to these fellows. They won't take it. They 
are dockhands from Liverpool. Practically 
all of them speak two languages, one is Eng- 
lish, the other !" 

Thinking that probably he was right I 
asked : 

"What shall I talk about?" 

"Talk about big game hunting in the 
jungles." He knew I had been in India and 
had some experience in big game hunting. 

The meeting began and I conmienced to 
talk about big game hunting. The men paid 
attention but were not particularly interested. 
They were on a bigger game hunt than I had 

121 



OUT THERE 

ever dreamed of. They were hunting with 
the bayonet. 

In the middle of my address I stopped as it 
flashed into my mind that I was missing it. 
Looking over my audience, I stopped talking 
about game shooting and started to talk about 
the biggest game hunt in the world — the hunt 
for character. Every single man in that great 
tent came to attention. There was not a man 
who left the tent during my talk of almost an 
hour. The atmosphere was absolutely tense 
with interest. 

At the end of the address I asked the men 
who wanted to swear allegiance to serve God 
in the best way they could; to be true to the 
home folks; keep pure and clean, to hold up 
their hands. Out of the so-called "toughest 
regiment of the British Empire" over two 
hundred and fifty men shot their hands into 
the air. They were, in company with prac- 
tically all the men in the war zone, seeking 
after the truer and deeper things of life. 

After the meeting was over they staged an 
impromptu concert, and the men lined up to 
take their turns as they danced jigs and sang 

122 



"IN THE MELTING POT" 

their songs. They sang all the latest songs 
to their way of thinking: 

"Way Down upon the Swannee River," 

"My Old Kentucky Home," 
and many others of the same sort. 

To my surprise, when taps sounded, this 
regiment (which had been lied about as the 
toughest regiment) broke out with that grand 
old song, which I have since heard on far 
flung desert sands. I have heard it on the 
Western front; I have heard the Americans 
sing it in France and the men sing it in the 
camps all over this country. 

"ABIDE WITH ME" 

Abide with me ! Fast falls the eventide ; 

The darkness deepens — Lord, with me abide! 
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee. 

Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me! 

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; 

Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away; 
Change and decay in all around I see; 

O Thou who changest not, abide with me! 

I need Thy presence ev'ry passing hour. 

What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's pow'r? 

Who, like Thyself, my Guide and Stay can be? 
Thro' cloud and sunshine, oh, abide with me! 
123 



OUT THERE 

Hold thou Thy cross before my closing eyes; 

Shine thro' the gloom, and point me to the skies ; 
Heav'n's morning breaks and earth's vain shadows 
flee! 

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me! 

After three years of going to and coming 
from these great camps I have come to realize 
that the men are looking for reality and truth. 

The following incident which took place in 
one of the great camps of this country illus- 
trates the spirit of the men. There had come 
from one of the large city churches a preacher 
to speak to the boys in the camp. During the 
evening before the meeting he was talking to 
a small group of men and said: 

"Boys, I have a sermon which I can preach 
to you tonight, or I can give you a funny 
lecture. Which shall it be?" 

One deep-chested sergeant spoke up and 
said : 

"If you, a minister of the gospel, have 
come a thousand miles to speak in this camp 
and you don't know whether to give a sermon 
or a funny lecture, I think you had better give 
a funny lecture." 

124 



"IN THE MELTING POT" 

Shortly after the Officers' Reserve camps 
had been organized in this country I was 
speaking in one of them. At the close of the 
meeting I stated that possibly there were 
some men in the camp who had not been liv- 
ing as true a Christian life as they knew they 
ought to lead, and that, realizing the task 
which was ahead of them and the obligations 
which would be upon them, possibly some 
would like to say by the holding up of their 
hands, "from now on I am going to lead the 
truest Christian life I know how." 

The building was jammed and scores of 
men were standing outside. One young uni- 
versity lad who could not get into the tent 
called out as I ceased speaking: 

"Here I am. You can't see me, but you 
can count me in." 

No one laughed, because the men in the 
camps have come to have a true appreciation 
of reality and frankness. 

At the front I found no group of men who 
are loved more than the chaplains who have 
shown themselves to be real men. For at the 
front the men are not asking of the padre 

125 



OUT THERE 

what university degrees he has or what theo- 
logical seminary he graduated from or what 
church he occupied in civil life. Instead they 
are asking: 

"Does he stick it?" 

"Is he real?" 

"Does he have a message that will help us?" 

"When the regiment goes into the front 
lines does he have work that keeps him back 
at headquarters, or does he go in with the regi- 
ment?" 

The men are not particularly interested in 
theological questions, but they are deeply in- 
terested in a man's relation to His God. They 
always ask to hear any man who has a mes- 
sage that will help them to "carry on" when the 
day's work takes them on to the borders of 
No Man's Land. 

After the war there will be two classes of 
people. Those who helped win the war and 
those who did not. 

The majority of the men who are in the war 
and come back will come back bigger and 
most of them better men, because at the battle 
front the men are coming into a better in- 

126 



"IN THE MELTING POT" 

terpretation of the brotherhood of men and 
the fatherhood of God. 

Men who are marching together, eating to- 
gether, sleeping together, going forward to 
fight, and perhaps to die together, are saying 
"why should we not worship together?" 

The greater test is coming, not to the man 
at the front, but to those back home who stand 
by and criticize because the Government has 
not done this and that; to those who are 
criticizing the boys because they are doing 
some things which they would not like to have 
them do. For example — I think of the great 
Edinburgh preacher. Dr. John Kelman, who 
told me that on coming back from one of his 
trips to the front, a kind-hearted elderly lady 
came up to him and said: 

"Dr. Kelman, is it true that the boys smoke 
out in France?" 

Dr. Kelman replied: 

"Yes, my good lady, that's true." 

"Dr. Kelman, is it true they give them to- 
bacco in the Y. M. C. A. at the front?" 

"Yes, that's true, too." 

Again she asked him: 
127 



OUT THERE 

"Dr. Kelman, is it possible that some of 
the boys at the front swear?" 

Dr. Kelman, having seen at the front what 
I have seen, and many another man has seen 
— ^men swearing in one breath and praying in 
the next, not realizing that they are swearing, 
but under the tense atmosphere of that awful 
front line, looking at her said: 

"Yes — some of the boys swear out in 
France — , and my good lady, I am not sure 
but that you would swear if you were out 
there." 

After standing at the front and seeing men 
come back with shattered and wrecked bodies, 
asking for a smoke before they ask to have 
their wounds tied up, I have come to realize 
that those who stay at home and criticize 
would probably change their minds if they 
could spend just five minutes on the edge of 
No Man's Land after a battle. 

The boys out there are giving all they have 
to give and are doing it willingly and without 
complaint. I cannot but think of their gifts 
alongside some of the gifts which are made 
by some people back in this country. I am 

128 



"IN THE MELTING POT" 

not forgetting the sacrifice that has been in- 
volved in the large amount of money given 
to the Red Cross, to the Y. M. C. A., in the 
purchase of Liberty Loan Bonds, but at the 
same time I am thinking of the gifts of some 
people alongside the gifts of the lads out 
there. 

After speaking one afternoon on behalf of 
the Y. M. C. A. at a very well-known home 
in one of the Eastern cities, a lady of great 
wealth came up and said: 

"You will never know what the Y. M. C. A. 
has meant to my boy." 

Tears stood in her eyes. Around her neck 
was twined a string of magnificent pearls. 
My son says: 

"It would be almost hell if it were not for 
the Y. M. C. A. It is the one bright spot in 
camp." 

"And you know I want to make a gift to 
help carry forward this work." 

As she left the room this woman who, if 
she meant what she said, could have given 
thousands, left in an envelope a five-dollar 

bill as a testimonial of her sacrifice. 

no 



OUT THERE 

Alongside of her gift I think of an old 
negro butler who came into the headquarters 
of the Y. M. C. A. in one of the cities during 
the campaign, and said to the Secretary: 

"Mister, I want to make a contribution to 
the Y. M. C. A. They turned me down for 
the army, but I want to do something for the 
other boys who are going, and all the money 
I have in the world is this check for my week's 
wages, but I want you to take it as my con- 
tribution. And I want you to know that as 
long as this war lasts, out of my nine dollars a 
week, I am going to give five dollars a month 
to help carry on the work for the other boys." 

His was a real gift, for truly it is not what 
we give, but what we share. 

But, out of this great melting pot is going 
to come a newer and greater conception of un- 
selfish service and sacrifice. Those who can- 
not go must give and share with those who 
do go. This is not a war of the few. It is 
the war of every true man and woman, every 
boy and girl, who call themselves Americans. 
We have all got to keep on giving and giving, 
not only of our money but of ourselves. Ours 

130 



"IN THE MELTING POT" 

must be the spirit of the boys out there. Who 
ever heard of a lad coming forward to his 
Captain and saying: 

"I can't go *over the top' tomorrow morn- 
ing. I went over a couple of weeks ago and 
I have done my bit." 

No, it does not work that way. He goes 
"over the top" and he keeps going over until at 
last he makes the great sacrifice or comes back 
out of the line unfit for service. 



CHAPTER IX 



"FRANCE CANNOT DIE" 



Is France bleeding white? 

Yes, if you mean France has sacrificed on 
the field of honor the youth and flower of 
her nation. The finest and best that France 
has has gone forth to fight and die for her. 
Already she has laid on the altar of Liberty 
a million of her sons. In addition to this, 
hundreds of thousands of her men have come 
back with wounds which have made of them 
physical wrecks. ' Three long and terrible 
years of war have drained the man power 
of France. 

In 1915 I went over the battlefield of the 
Marne. There I was reminded in an unfor- 
gettable way of the words of General Joffre: 
"We will stop on the Marne." 

In those first awful days of the war irre- 
sistible German hordes swept through Bel- 
gium, leaving destruction and death in their 
wake, barbaric hordes laying waste all that 

132 



"FRANCE CANNOT DIE" 

they came in touch with. As they came on 
like a great torrent it seemed nothing could 
save Paris. 

But in their path stood the little "con- 
temptible British Army" which knew how to 
die, but did not know how to surrender. In 
their way stood the fathers, husbands and 
brothers of France, who were fighting not 
for honor and not for glory, but for their 
homes, their women, their little helpless chil- 
dren, in fact for all that we hold sacred and 
dear. General Joffre, with great strategy, 
had held part of his forces in reserve and 
said to his armies, "We will stop on the 
Marne." Yes, they stopped on the Marne, 
there to lay down all if necessary, but never 
to surrender. 

I went over many of those fields of battle. 
Many times, walking over ground where my 
feet were constantly touching graves, I 
looked upon those forests of little crosses, 
the white crosses marking the graves of the 
French, the black crosses marking the Ger- 
man graves. 

Then for the first time I realized what it 
133 



OUT THERE 

meant to France to stop Germany on the 
Marne. 

The last Sunday of September, 1917, I 
went into the City of Verdun. It was a quiet 
day. They were not "strafing" the city. 
There were no soldiers on the streets, only 
in the cellars under the buildings were men. 
But no one can reahze the awful destruction 
of that once beautiful city unless their eyes 
have rested upon it. Practically every room 
in every house has been hit b}^ shells and 
virtually hammered to pieces. Streets have 
been obhterated, beautiful homes have be- 
come mere piles of bricks and stones. Shade 
trees have become old snags. Devastation 
and destruction are on every hand. 

Dreadful and terrible as has been the ma- 
terial cost, it fades into insignificance com- 
pared with the human cost. One cannot for- 
get the thousands of little graves, the acres 
of them, scattered on the hillsides around 
Verdun. 

Down into the ages will ring those immor- 
tal words, ''They shall not pass," and they 
did not pass. 

134 



"FRANCE CANNOT DIE'* 

'But in stopping Germany en the Marne 
and holding Verdun, the key to Paris, France 
has sacrificed the best she has. If we mean 
the cost in human Hfe, then I say France is 
bleeding white. 

Is France bleeding white? 

Yes, if we mean from a purely material 
standpoint. Her finest coal fields have been 
captured, her most productive vineyards 
taken. The people of Northern France have 
been either driven forth from their homes by 
the Boche or starved and treated worse than 
dogs. 

The people of France have poured in their 
money to carry forward the war. They have 
gone without many of the necessities of life. 
They have gone forward in spite of a short- 
age of food and of coal. 

They have given up their motor cars, for 
you will find no more pleasure cars in France 
today. 

They have cheerfully taken the order 
"only one hot bath a week in order to save 
coal." 

France has paid a tremendous price. 
135 



OUT THERE 

In going Ihrough the villages into the 
country one never sees men of military age, 
physically fit, not in uniform — only the old 
men and the boys. 

One evening, going by motor car out to 
one of the great base camps where the sol- 
diers belonged to the youngest class that 
had been called to the colors, I said to my 
French friend: 

"Your country has paid an awful price in 
this war." 

He did not speak for a long time. I pre- 
sume he was thinking of the price his own 
family had paid. At last he very quietly 
replied : 

"Yes, we have paid an awful price. If 
you were to put crepe on every door where 
they have lost a loved one, the door of prac- 
tically every house in France would carry 
crepe." 

Is France bleeding white? 

No, and never will she bleed white. If 
you mean the spirit of France is broken; if 
you mean she is at the breaking point ; France 
is determined to see it through. For the 

136 



"FRANCE CANNOT DIE" 

peopk have come to realize that death i« to 
be preferred to defeat. She will go on, and 
on, giving and sacrificing. But she will never 
give in, even though all her sons are laid on 
the altar. 

The editor of Le Matin summed it all up 

when he said: 

"France sees the path in which she must 
go and she is willing to walk in that path 
wherever it may lead. The path may lead 
to suffering greater than France has yet 
known; or it may lead to death. It will not 
lead to servitude and dishonor." 

One afternoon, as the guest of the Ameri- 
can Ambassador, the Hon. William Sharpe, 
who in such a splendid sympathetic way has 
been looking after our affairs in France, I 
went to the opening of a great hospital. It 
was a hospital which was to be devoted to 
the education of the permanently maimed, 
who were out of the game and must now go 
back into civil hfe, no longer able to do the 
work they had been doing before the war. 
I said opening, but that afternoon there gath- 
ered into that large ward hundreds of men 

137 



OUT THERE 

who were already in the hospital. Every 
single ward was full of men long before the 
official opening, all of them maimed for life, 
an arm or a leg gone. Here they were to 
be taught new trades by which they could 
earn their daily bread. 

In the course of the afternoon there stood 
on the platform one of the great opera sing- 
ers of France in the uniform of a private. 
As he started to sing the "Marseillaise," I 
turned and looked over that great ward. 
Every man who could come to his feet or 
foot was standing at attention. Here was 
one helping up a man next to him who had 
only one leg. As the singer went on to 
sing: 

"March on, March on," 

"All hearts resolved on victory or death," 

a great sob crept over the whole room. 
Every man who had faced the German bul- 
lets cried like a little child. 

No, France is not dying — she may be 
bleeding white, but France cannot die. Rich- 
ard Butler Glaenzer, in his poem, "Vive La 
France," tells the story: 

138 



"FRANCE CANNOT DIE" 

If France is dying, she dies as day, 
In the splendor of noon, sun-aureoled. 

If France is dying, then youth is gray 
And steel is soft and flame is cold. 

FraTice cannot die! France cannot die! 

If France is dying, she dies as love 

When a mother dreams of her child-to-be. 

If France is dying, then God above 
Died with His Son upon the Tree. 

France cannot die! France can/not die! 

If France is dying, true manhood dies. 
Freedom and justice, all golden things. 

If France is dying, then life were wise 

To borrow of death such immortal wings. 

France cannot die! France can/not die! 



CHAPTER X 

LONDON — PARIS 

"Take cover!" an English policeman was 
shouting as he came rushing into Piccadilly 
Circus on his motorcycle. 

Inmiediately everyone rushed into nearby 
buildings. Within ten minutes the streets, 
which had been crowded with people and 
onotor busses coming and going, were abso- 
lutely clear — as clear from human life as a 
country churchyard at midnight. 

The Boche planes were coming towards 
London and word had been sent on in ad- 
vance to clear the streets. 

Some fifteen minutes later staid old Lon- 
don was being shaken by the roai: of the 
.scores of anti-aircraft guns that were Hring 
their shrapnel, creating a mass of bursting 
shells two to three miles up in the air over 
the city. By this firing they were keeping 
the G^erman planes from getting down near 

140 



LONDON— PARIS 

enough to the ground to see where they 
should drop their bombs. 

As the policeman called out his order, 
"Take cover," there was no screaming or 
going into hysterics. Everyone quickly and 
quietly rushed into the nearby buildings. The 
hundreds of women and children who had 
been standing outside the entrances to the 
London Underground had been admitted so 
as to get out from under the rain of shrap- 
nel — ^not from the German planes, but from 
the British anti-aircraft guns firing into the 
<air. For, as a matter of fact, although they 
have made scores of attempts on London, 
the actual damage done by these raiding Ger- 
man planes has been slight. 

As I stood in the entrance to one of the 
buildings, watching the women and chil- 
dren crowding into the Underground — ^here 
a woman with her four or five little children 
clinging to her skirts and an infant in her 
arms — here an aged couple — here little news- 
boys — all quiet and calm, I could not help 
but wonder what would happen in New York 
if some evening a policeman should rush 

141 



OUT THERE 

down the street calling out to the crowds, 
"Take cover, the German planes are com- 
ing." Would New York take the news in 
the same quiet and calm way London does? 

After some two hours the policeman again 
comes down through the empty streets, call- 
ing out: 

"AlFs well. The Boche planes have been 
driven away." 

What great rejoicing there would be to- 
morrow morning in Berlin when the news- 
papers carried the report that London had 
once more been bombed — the glorious news 
that a few helpless Uttle school children had 
been blown to pieces or a few women killed! 
No material damage whatever accomplished, 
but our enemy is one who rejoices at the 
death of innocent women and little children. 

Spending the night in the home of one of 
my very dear friends in London, I went in 
to kiss his two little kiddies goodnight. At 
the head of their bed they had hung their 
little kit bags, with cakes of chocolate and 
biscuits and a canteen of water, for their 
father and mother had taught them to look 

142 



LONDON— PARIS 

upon the air raids as a sort of lark, when they 
.would go to the basement as soldiers go to 
the dugouts. 

It is truly remarkable the way our Anglo- 
Saxon brothers can make the best of all 
circumstances. 

Imagine, you who live in the inland cities 
of America, retiring at night, not knowing 
at what moment you would have to rush out 
of bed and to the basement with your little 
children. 

At the same time bear in mind that the 
only reason your homes have not been invaded 
is because, standing between America and the 
wretched Hun are the great British and 
French Armies on the Western Front and 
the great British Fleets which have swept 
the seas and kept back from our door the 
enemy who glories in the death of the inno- 
cent and the helpless. Lying in my bed one 
night in London I counted, inside of five 
minutes, the firing of one hundred and twenty 
anti-aircraft guns. 

In London all the great hotels are being 
run by women. There are no longer elevator 

143 



OUT THERE 

boys — there are elevator girls. Women run- 
ning the Underground, running the busses, 
working in the great munition plants, in 
order that the men may go off to the front 
to fight. Truly the whole nation is at war. 
But in the midst of it all I foimd no spirit 
of discouragement. On the contrary, I found 
,a spirit of determination, a willingness to 
make whatever sacrifices are necessary to win 
the war. 

Practically the only danger in London 
from the air raids is the falling of the shrapnel 
from the anti-aircraft guns. The bombs have 
done very little damage. Fortunately a num- 
ber of the bombs dropped have been "dud" 
bombs. I recall standing in the entrance to 
a theatre near one of the most prominent 
corners in London when a great German 
bomb was dropped which did not go off. It 
has been very remarkable how little actual 
damage has been accomplished by the raiders. 

Many times since I have returned to Amer- 
ica I have been asked the question: 

"Why do not the British airplanes re- 
taliate?" 

144 



LONDON— PARIS 

For the simple reason that the AUies are 
not carrying on a war of retaliation. The 
killing of women and little children in Ger- 
many is not going to end the war. Britain 
and France have developed their wonderful 
airplane service for the work at the front, 
and not for destroying the unprotected and 
noncombatants back of the line. 

At the front I found that, without ques- 
tion, the Allied planes are the superior of 
the Boche machines, this in spite of the fact 
that in August, 1914, Britain had sixty-six 
machines and one hundred officers, whereas 
today she has a great fleet of thousands and 
thousands of machines, and tens of thousands 
of men. 

It is in Paris that one sees and feels the 
great throbbing heart of the Allies. The 
streets are crowded with men coming from 
and going to the war. It is here we find 
the Alhed soldiers of all descriptions. It is 
a rare sight to see a man on the streets of 
Paris not in uniform. 

No great, gaudy show, such as we see in 
New York; no luxurious motor cars are here; 

145 



OUT THERE 

no elaborate dining out, no white bread on 
the table — only war bread. There was no 
butter and practically no sugar. 

What a comparison New York makes with 
London and Paris, where all lights are gone. 
Through the darkened streets you hear the 
constant tooting of the taxicabs, but every- 
thing is in darkness. 

New York with thousands of cars going 
and coming, London and Paris without a 
single pleasure car! 

On the streets of New York there are a 
few score of uniformed men. In London 
and Paris there are thousands and thousands 
of uniformed men, and hundreds of wounded 
men. 

In Paris, practically all hotels are closed 
and turned over into hospitals. Everyone is 
busy — ^in some way connected with the war. 

In London, in all the great parks and pub- 
lic squares will be found Y. M. C. A. or other 
rest huts for the accommodation of the soldiers. 

Paris and London have domesticated the 
war. 



CHAPTER XI 



"at the war with the Yankees" 



"Say, got the ^makings'?" 
"Sure, here is some Bull Durham." 
It was early morning. We had gotten 
off the train at a little French railway sta- 
tion to get a cup of coffee. We had landed 
at two o'clock that morning and were on our 
way to Paris. Knowing what to expect, we 
had prepared for just such an emergency. 
As they rolled their "makings" and went 
puffing off down the railroad platform, we 
realized that at last America was in the world 
war. 

As we were waiting for the train to pull 
out, the Yankee lads gathered around, all 
of them bubbling over with questions about 
home. 

None of them waited for us to answer their 
questions. But they are all happy and cheer- 
ful as they ply us with questions, and above 
all the big question: 

"How soon is the Y. M. C. A. going to 
147 



OUT THERE 

get us plenty of American tobacco? We 
don't like this French stuff." 

Later, as we went through the country 
where the Yankees were in camp, we found 
them all cheerful, working like Trojans, for 
had not they had the honor of being in the 
First Contingent of American troops that 
went to France? 

They were billeted — not in great com- 
fortable barracks, such as we have provided 
for the men in this country. They were bil- 
leted in little villages, a few hundred here 
and a few hundred there, living in barns, 
haymows, stables, or cow sheds, lads who 
less than a year ago were Uving back home 
in comfortable farm houses, fraternity houses, 
club houses, and having the best America 
could afford. 

In many of these little villages the en- 
trance to the house and the entrance to the 
stable open on the same street, as they are 
always under the same roof. Between them 
is generally placed the manure pile, which 
isn't especially decorative. 

All the Yankees are picking up a smat- 
148 



"WITH THE YANKEES" 

tering of French, and in answer to your 
questions, it is no longer, "Oui, oui. Mon- 
sieur!" but, with a keen sense of humor, 
"We, we, manure!" 

We find that our new army is indeed a 
democratic army, consisting of men and boys 
from all walks of life. But all of them are 
now bound together, not by miUtary dis- 
cipline alone, but by a common purpose; 
everyone determined to do his share in help- 
ing to win the war, to make "The world safe 
for Democracy." 

It is a marvelous thing, the way our lads 
are sticking it out there. Of course, a good 
many of them are cold and wet, and not ac- 
customed to that sort of life, but I heard less 
growhng all the time I was in those Amer- 
ican camps than I would have heard in any 
fraternity or club house back here in one day. 

One night, on my way to the French front, 
we arrived at a camp of American engineers. 
They were helping to run one of the impor- 
tant railroads that feeds the front line. As 
I walked across the camp toward the Y. M. 
C. A. tent, one chap called out: 

149 



OUT THERE 
"Say, boys, here are some new Y. M. C. A. 



men." 



We went over to where he was helping 
wash up the dishes after the evening meal. 
Finding out we had not eaten, all the chaps 
in the barracks came rolling out to see that 
we were fed. From all over they came with 
their mess kits, wanting to do something 
for us. 

Later we gathered in the Y. M. C. A. tent 
for a "sing-song" and religious meeting. 
Just as I started to speak, for it was a 
moonlight night, a Boche machine came over, 
trying to drop bombs on the camp. As the 
anti-aircraft guns began to crack, one chap 
turned off the lights and I went on talking. 
Not a man left the tent to watch the show 
outside. In fact there was less attention 
paid to the Boche than I have seen given to 
a late comer at a Sunday morning service 
back home. After the meeting was over the 
secretary called out: 

"Some of you fellows may be going up 
the line tonight. I wonder if we could use 
your bunks?" 

150 



"WITH THE YANKEES'* 

Of course, only a few of the men were going 
up the line, but every chap in the tent called 
out: 

"They can have my bunk." 

No lack of hospitality there. However, 
the Colonel insisted on fixing us up at Head- 
quarters. 

These were the railroad men. One cap- 
tain, who had taken me especially under his 
wing — a fine type of man, and one who held 
an important railroad position in this coun- 
try — said to a sergeant who had been in the 
same office with him back here: 

"Bill, what did you do with my lantern?" 

The sergeant replied: 

"That wasn't your lantern!" (A little dif- 
ferent from the reply he would have made if 
he had lived in a British camp.) 

"That was my lantern." 

"That was not your lantern." 

My friend, the captain, forgetting that he 
was entertaining a secretary, said: 

"Damn it, that was my lantern!" 

"You might as well keep your shirt on; it 
was not your lantern." 

151 



OUT THERE 

"It was my lantern," replied the captain, 
"and I am going to have it!" 

"Well," replied the sergeant, "if you want 
it, go get it." 

And the strange thing was that the cap- 
tain went and got it. 

In talking with the colonel, an old West 
Point man, afterwards, I said: 

"It must be a remarkable pleasure for you 
to command these men." 

"I never commanded a group of men where 
it was such a joy as this." 

"Of course, discipline is your smallest ques- 
tion," I remarked, jokingly. 

"No, that is my biggest question. I have 
to not see a good many things over here. I 
realize that these men did not come to be 
soldiers as much as they came over to help 
win this war, and I am closing my eyes to 
a good many things. Yet we, of course, 
have to have discipline." 

The discipline in the American army is 
more like that in the Australian and Cana- 
dian armies than in the English. There is a 
certain freedom and imderstanding which 

152 




At Home and Happy Out There 




It's Not All Drill, Drill, Drill Over There 



"WITH THE YANKEES" 

seems to exist between the Colonial officers 
and their men, far more marked than with 
the English officers. 

In this connection one of the most essential 
things in the training of men is that ever- 
lasting drill, drill, drill, day after day, and 
day after day, not merely so that one man 
can have the ascendancy over the other men, 
but because when they go into the line and 
over the top the life of every single man 
hangs in the hands of his officer. 

The Australians and the Canadians, by 
bitter experience, have learned that discipline 
is one of the fundamental laws of soldiery. 
For example, if the men are ordered to go 
"over the top" and take a certain objective, 
they must take that point, go that far and 
no farther — no matter how easy it may seem 
to go on. If they do go on, they are likely 
to go under the fire from their own guns. 
Hence, absolute discipline is the only rule 
that can possibly work in war. 

Taking the Young Men's Christian Asso- 
ciation at its word, that it wanted to serve 
the soldier from the time he left home until 

155 



OUT THERE 

he went to the front line trench, and finally 
back to his home, if God granted that he 
should come back, General Pershing turned 
over to the Y. M. C. A. the responsibility for 
the amusement and recreation of the troops 
by means of its usual program of social, edu- 
cational, physical and religious activities. 

In addition to this. General Pershing has 
committed to the Association the conducting 
and administrating of the canteen in all the 
camps in France in order that officers and 
enlisted men may not be taken away for that 
purpose from their permanent military func- 
tions of training and fighting. 

That is American efficiency. 

The day before I left France I called at 
the American headquarters to tell General 
Pershing of the coming thirty-five-milhon- 
dollar campaign which was to be waged in 
the States for the Y. M. C. A. war work. 
He went over the matter very carefully, 
speaking in very high praise of the work. 
The next day he sent off the following mes- 
sage to the General Secretary of the Ameri- 
can Association in France, Mr. Carter, with 

156 



"WITH THE YANKEES" 

instructions to forward it to Dr. Mott, the 
General Secretary of the Y. M. C. A.: 

SIGNAL CORPS— UNITED STATES ARMY 

Telegram 

"Headquarters American Expeditionary Forces — 
France. 

September twenty-sixth. 

The work now being done by the Y. M. C. A. for 

the comfort and entertainment of our soldiers in 
France is very important. As an organization its 
moral influence is highly beneficial. It performs a 
real service that makes for contentment. The 
Y. M. C. A. has won its place by unselfish personal 
devotion to the soldier's welfare and deserves staunch 
support by our people at home. 

Pershing." 

When we recall the work of the British 
Y. M. C. A. at the front and down the path 
of the walking wounded, we begin to reahze 
the far-reaching importance of the follow-* 
ing, which is quoted from the order handing 
over the canteens to the Y. M. C. A.: 

"The establishment of these exchanges 
should not be limited to the areas more re- 
mote from active operation, but it is par- 

157 



OUT THERE 

ticularly desirable that they should be pushed 
as far to the front as military operations 
will permit, in order that such comforts and 
conveniences as they afford, may reach the 
soldiers in the more advanced positions where 
they are most needed." 

All profits which the Association is mak- 
ing from the canteens it expends for the 
benefit and amusement of the soldiers, as its 
principal object is to administer to their 
needs. 

In a sentence, the Y. M. C. A. is the sol- 
dier's best friend. It furnishes him a home- 
like place, free from military discipline. It 
takes the home into the camp. It "keeps 
the home fires burning." 



CHAPTER XII 

"answering the call" 

Germany with her ruthless submarine pol- 
icy forced the United States into the war, 
realizing that this country was as unpre- 
pared for war as any country could be. The 
United States had always been a peace-lov- 
ing nation, and, contrary to the policy of the 
great European nations, we had no program 
of compulsory military training. The stand- 
ing army was a mere handful, scattered over 
all parts of the nation. 

The United States had gone on the Mon- 
roe Doctrine, believing that it would not be 
necessary for America to enter European 
poKtics. However, from the very day that 
Germany invaded Belgium, America was in- 
evitably being drawn into the arena. When, 
in February, 1915, the Lusitania went down, 
the handwriting appeared on the wall. 

But Germany, in drawing the United 
159 



OUT THERE 

States into the war, overlooked the fact that 
she was drawing in the nation that could in 
time produce more money, more men and 
more munitions than any other country in 
the world. As ex-President Taft has said, 
the country was well prepared in one respect, 
"in the manufacture of munitions. The war 
situation and the desire for gain on our part 
has brought about a state of affairs which 
puts us far ahead of France and England 
in this respect." Mr. Taft was referring to 
the large nimiber of munition plants, such 
as the Du Pont, the Bethlehem Steel, and 
others, who through supplying the Allies have 
grown into tremendous munition producing 
plants. 

Without question Germany had reckoned 
upon the large number of German Ameri- 
cans being able to hold back the war prepa- 
rations in the States. To her way of thinking 
she had laid her plans well in the damnable 
spy system and schemes which Bernstorff had 
so minutely planned before the break came. 

The Imperial German Government was 
counting on the German Americans making 

160 



"ANSWERING THE CALL" 

trouble in such a serious manner that Amer- 
ica would have her hands full on the inside. 
Likewise in the schemes that had been laid 
out to blow up munitions plants, raiboad 
bridges and steamers, she expected to so 
cripple America that, as a fighting factor, 
she would practically not count. 

The answer that America has given to 
Germany is one of the most remarkable that 
any nation has given to ajiother country at 
war. 

In April, when we entered the war, the 
universal talk was — it would be only a mat- 
ter of moral influence — that no troops would 
need to be sent overseas — and if troops were 
sent over, it would only be for the effect it 
would have upon our Allies. 

In one year see what a change! Congress 
passed the conscription bill which made avail- 
able for military service ten millions of men. 
An army of a million and a half of men has 
been raised. Great camps, from two to eleven 
thousand acres in extent, have been estab- 
lished. Cities housing forty thousand men 
have sprung up where soldiers are being 

161 



OUT THERE 

trained — ^not for any moral effect, but for 
service on the Western front. Instead of 
sending to France an army of one hundred 
thousand, we are told that already at least 
five hundred thousand men are in line "over 
there." 

With a determined hand the American 
people have come forward to pay the finan- 
cial price it takes to win the war. The first 
great Liberty Loan of two billions was over- 
subscribed; the second Liberty Loan of three 
billions was also oversubscribed. America 
said in substance to her Allies, we are pre- 
paring, if needs be, to finance the war from 
now on. 

In addition to the Liberty Loan cam- 
paigns, the Red Cross, the Y. M. C. A., 
the Knights of Columbus, came forward for 
money to minister to those who are suffer- 
ing and in need, and to care for the welfare 
of the soldiers. In every instance the amount 
they asked for was oversubscribed. 

As to the German Americans, there has 
been very little trouble. After personally 
going from coast to coast and speaking in 

162 



"ANSWERING THE CALL" 

some of the most so-called pro-German cities 
in America, I have come to believe firmly 
that among the most loyal citizens will be 
found large nmnbers of the so-called pro- 
Germans. Before America entered the war 
it was natural that many of those of German 
birth found it hard to believe the stories that 
came regarding Germany's way of conduct- 
ing the war. The German propaganda was 
so cleverly carried on in America that the 
stories of the terrible atrocities and the fright- 
ful manner in which Germany was carrying 
on war were constantly being discredited. 

When America entered the war it was an 
entirely different issue. It was then Ger- 
many or America; no longer a question of 
pro-German, pro-French, or pro-British, but 
a question of Americans for America. 

In one city in America which I visited the 
proportion of German citizens is larger than 
any other foreign nationality, and despite it 
all I visited no city where the response and 
spirit of patriotism was more manifest. 

Since America is made up of such large 
numbers of citizens of foreign birth, it is 

163 



OUT THERE 

right that no man's loyalty be questioned 
without good cause. 

At the same time, after having gone up 
and down the Western front, and realizing 
that a spy within our own doors is more dan- 
gerous than a spy on the Western front, I 
have come back from the last trip to France 
with the firm conviction that any man or 
woman proving himself or herself disloyal or a 
traitor should be dealt with in the same man- 
ner as the war policy on that front would de- 
mand. 

Uppermost in the minds of all must stand 
the point that we must win the war, and win 
it in a decisive way. The Western line must 
be broken and the Prussian Military party 
so humiUated that it will be discounted in 
Germany to such an extent that it no longer 
will have the upper hand in German politics. 

After having been in a state of war for 
one year with Germany, it is natural that 
there should be critics of the administration 
who feel that America has done very little. 
OBut, considering the state of affairs that 
America was in when we entered the conflict, 

164 



"ANSWERING THE CALL" 

the preparations she has made and the things 
accomplished during that one year have been 
remarkable. 

It is unnecessary to speak of the wonderful 
work of the nurses and the doctors who min- 
ister to those who are sick and wounded at 
the front. 

Far removed as we are from the seat of the 
war, it is quite natural that we should over- 
look the suffering and need among the non- 
combatants, which is purely a by-product of 
the war. In many cases it actually becomes 
greater than the needs at the front. The 
actual war machine has driven from their 
homes literally millions of helpless women 
and children. All Belgium has come to feel 
the wheels of the German machine. In Po- 
land, Servia, Northern France, and many of 
the other invaded districts it has made home- 
less and helpless literally millions of people. 
The Armenians are vanishing by the thou- 
sands — ^truly the whole nation is in danger 
of being wiped out because of the war. 

While in Egypt in 1916 I visited one of 
the great Armenian refugee camps. Those 

165 



OUT THERE 

refugees who escaped from the mountains of 
Lebanon and got to the sea, after thousands 
of them had been slain on the wayside, were 
picked up by a French cruiser and carried to 
Port Said. In all this camp I do not believe 
there was a single family which had been left 
intact. 

Long before America entered the war the 
generous-hearted American citizens had heard 
the appeal and had helped to minister to the 
suffering in Belgium, although in a far too 
meagre way — Armenian rehef, Polish relief, 
Servian relief, relief to the needy in France, 
but all on a very small and inadequate scale. 
It was practically only a drop in the bucket. 
But no sooner had America entered the war 
than the humanitarian call was answered, and 
answered in a tremendous way. 

Mr. Henry P. Davison was called to the 
head of the Red Cross. He is one of Amer- 
ica's keenest and best business men. No 
longer was the plan to spend hundreds or 
thousands in relief, but millions. The Red 
Cross laid out a program which should not 
only touch one phase of the suffering, but 

166 



"ANSWERING THE CALL" 

should be comprehensive and universal. The 
program of activities has been so tremen- 
dously far sweeping and important that it 
can only be barely mentioned. 

Plans were made to move the little help- 
less children from Belgium to neutral coun- 
tries and Allied territory by the hundreds 
and thousands. It was not enough that they 
should give mere temporary relief to the 
helpless women and little children of France, 
but in conjunction with that marvelous work 
which has been carried on by England and 
America, a program was mapped out to help 
reconstruct the invaded villages. A mere 
statement of this fact seems cold when one 
has seen what such a work will mean. Whole 
villages which have been laid absolutely level 
to the ground are to be rebuilt and refur- 
nished, so that those who are left can go back 
into what were once their cheerful and pleas- 
ant little villages. 

In conjunction with the Rockefeller Foun- 
dation they are also helping to solve the great 
tubercular problem of France. 

They sent commissions to Russia, Servia, 
167 



OUT THERE 

Italy and other of the suffering countries in 
order that they might have first-hand infor- 
mation, so that in a great, masterly fashion 
they would be able to minister not to one 
phase of the great needy, suffering fields, but 
that all parts of the great war zone might 
be helped, and, as far as possible, rebuilt. 

Every one is familiar with the work that 
the Red Cross has done in conjunction with 
the actual armies in its ministering to the 
wounded. But undoubtedly the finest piece 
of work being done by them is for those who 
come under what I call "the by-product of 
war." 

Inasmuch as it has been my privilege to 
have seen so much of the war, I have come 
to realize that the work being carried on by 
the Red Cross at the present time will be 
only a fraction of the work that it will need 
to do after peace has been declared. 

Not only will America help to bring the 
war to a successful finish, but we will learn 
as a nation to sacrifice and give in such a 
way that, when the war ends, every man, 
woman and child of our great nation will 

168 



"ANSWERING THE CALL" 

feel the responsibility of helping to build up 
and reconstruct devastated Europe. 

At the present time it is the exceptional 
American home that will not have received a 
letter written by some boy who is in an army 
camp here or over in France. Almost with- 
out exception those letters bear the stamp of 
the Red Triangle. This triangle has come to 
be recognized by all as the sign of the one 
homelike place in every American camp. 

We do well to remember that all of our 
Allies have not been so fortunate. Great 
Britain at the very beginning of the war 
realized what the Y. M. C. A. would mean 
to her armies. In the British army today 
the red triangle is as much a part of the 
fighting machine as any other part of the 
service. 

Russia, Italy and France have not had such 
an organization. After weeks and months 
in the trenches there was no place for the 
Russian, Italian and French soldiers to go 
for a few hours of relaxation, nowhere to go 
to write their home letters, no place to go 
where they could be cheered up. 

169 



OUT THERE 

The General French Staff recognized this 
need and called upon the Y. M. C. A. to 
establish its work with the French army. 
The work had been tried out on a small scale 
in many of the French camps before Amer- 
ica entered the war. The International Com- 
mittee of the Y. M. C. A. had supplied 
money for a nmnber of places to be opened 
to the French army. It was my privilege 
to visit several of these centers which had 
been established before America entered the 
war. One was in a great munition plant 
where seventeen thousand men were labor- 
ing, all of them soldiers past forty years of 
age — working twelve hours a day, and on 
Sunday, eighteen hours on the shift, one day 
a month rest, receiving a wage of five cents 
per day. The building which had been estab- 
lished was being crowded and jammed and 
packed every single minute that the men 
were off duty. 

Another of the buildings was in a great 
mihtary camp where thousands of boys who 
belonged to the youngest class which had 
been called to the colors had been encamped. 

170 



K 






c5 

a; 
> 
c 




"ANSWERING THE CALL" 

The old General who was in charge of the 
camp informed me that after the Y. M. C. A. 
had been established the vice in his camp had 
decreased ninety-five per cent, and that it 
was impossible for him to express the appre- 
ciation with which his men had received it. 

This work had been administered and car- 
ried forward mider the remarkable leadership 
of the General Secretary of the Foyer-du- 
Soldats Y. M. C. A., Mr. Emanuel Sautter 
himself a Frenchman. 

Dr, John R. Mott, head of the American 
Y. M. C. A., had been back of the prelim- 
inary work with the French army. Conse- 
quently, when America entered the war, the 
French army had come to realize what this 
work meant to the men. 

General Petain asked the American Asso- 
ciation to cooperate and take over, under the 
direction of Mr. Sautter, thirteen hundred 
buildings, dugouts and cellars which should 
be erected and equipped for the army, but 
directed by the Y. M. C. A. This invitation 
was accepted, and today the American Y. M. 
C. A., under the direction of the War Work 

173 



OUT THERE 

Council of America and the able leadership 
of Mr. Sautter, is being established with the 
whole French army. 

General Pershing cabled to America: 

"The greatest service America can imme- 
diately render France is to extend Associa- 
tion work to the entire French army." 

In addition to the call for help which came 
from the French army, came the call from 
Italy, and the Italian Government invited a 
commission to visit Italy and the front in 
order to see the need for the work of the 
Y. M. C. A. with the Italian army. This 
commission was made up of delegates from 
the American Association and delegates from 
the British Association. Plans were laid 
inmiediately to start the work in Italy. 

When the American commission which had 
been sent to Russia returned to America, they 
came bearing a call from Russia for Y. M. 
C. A. work in the Russian army. Possibly 
no army in all the war zone has needed such 
help more than the Russian army. Who can 
say what it might have meant had this work 
in Russia been established two years ago. 

174 



"ANSWERING THE CALL" 

It might have meant the saving of Russia 
to the Allied cause. 

The following letter from Major-General 
H. L. Scott to Dr. John R. Mott clearly 
states the situation in Russia: 

"I hope you will push the plan of spread- 
ing the work of the Young Men's Christian 
Association throughout the Russian army. 
Get the facts before the President. This is 
a matter in which our Government should co- 
operate at once. It will also appeal strongly 
to men and women of means in America. 

"For years I have been intimately ac- 
quainted with the good, practical work done 
by the Young Men's Christian Association 
in the American Army and Navy. I have 
seen its helpful activities in the Philippines, 
in Cuba, on our Mexican Border, and else- 
where. We could not have done without it. 
It has been managed in such a broad-minded 
and wise way that it has been well received 
by officers and enlisted men whose views on 
other questions have differed materially. I 
have just seen much of the Russian Army 
on the German, Austrian and Roumanian 

175 



OUT THERE 

fronts, and also in many garrison towns of 
Russia and Siberia, and am convinced that 
the Association work should be immediately 
organized in this great army in order to 
ensure the contentment and efficiency of the 
men, to raise their morale, and to help coun- 
teract the intriguing propaganda which is 
doing so much to unsettle them. 

"The Roumanian situation must not be 
forgotten. It is of tremendous importance. 
I hear good reports about your work in the 
French Army. I am not surprised that Gen- 
eral Pershing wishes to have it rapidly ex- 
tended. 

"I need not emphasize the importance of 
your choosing the best qualified men to take 
charge of this work in the armies of our 
Allies. They could render no greater service 
to our countiy and our cause, even from a 
military point of view, than to help build up 
and save the power of these millions of men 
on whom the great strain comes. Such a 
work requires the best men you can find." 

The head of all of the Y. M. C. A. work 
in France is Mr. Edward C. Carter, who, 

176 



"ANSWERING THE CALL" 

with remarkable foresight and wisdom, has 
been directing the work in the war zone. 
The beginning of the war found him in India, 
and under his direction thirteen Y. M. C. A. 
Secretaries left that country with the first 
Indian troops that sailed for France, there 
to carry on the work with the Indian army. 

In all the war zone there is no man who 
has so wholeheartedly and in a remarkable 
way done his bit to win the war as Mr. Car- 
ter has. The hundreds and thousands of 
workers imder his direction in the war zone 
have become a great machine which in no 
small way will have a tremendous effect in 
helping to bring the war to ultimate victory. 

In 1916 I was in a great Indian base camp 
in France. All of the Indian soldiers were 
of Hindoo, Mohammedan, or some other non- 
Christian faith, but they had caught the spirit 
of the Y. M. C. A. One morning there was 
found on the door of one of our huts in the 
base camp at Marseilles an Urdu poem, 
written by a Sepoy. The following is an 
extract from a translation of the same: 

"Oh God, do good to him who has founded this 
177 



OUT THERE 

Association; may it remain established in the world 
forever. 

"Every moment those who are in charge give to 
any of us who need them paper and envelopes . . . 
pen and ink. For those who are ignorant or illit- 
erate and cannot write themselves, they write letters ; 
and this they do without cost. 

"Lo ! on the ground the Sepoy sits around as they 
listen to the music of the gramophone. 

"They provide us with the much-needed soap and 
razor, and brush, and machine with which they cut 
our hair and clip our beards. 

"In the morning they all join with us in football 
and hockey, and at night they show us moving 
pictures. 

"The secretaries of this Association are fully sym- 
pathetic, because they consider everyone as their 
brothers. 

"How can I tell of our praise and admiration for 
this Association! . . . 

"And this, too, is the prayer of Maula for this 
Association, that it may ever abide under God's 
protection." 



CHAPTER XIII 



"homesick? yes 

The Quay throbbed with cheerful-faced 
American sailor lads. 

They were streaming to the dock from their 
little boats. All of them were happy and 
smiling, for it was evening and they were 
coming on shore leave. We crowded through 
them and found the motor boat that was to 
take us over to the fleet in the bay. 

As we went out through the bay we found 
the waves rolling quite high. 

Had not those two sailors managed to take 
some of the waves side on, which soaked our 
new uniforms, we might have doubted they 
were true Yankee lads, always keen on a joke 
or a bit of fun. 

They were a part of what I like to refer 
to as the vanguard of American patriots. 
They belonged to the Mosquito Fleet. 

I recall how the day the enlistments were 
opened up in the Mosquito Fleet scores of 

179 



OUT THERE 

men from Cornell, where I make my home, 
rushed in to volunteer, as did hundreds from 
other colleges. All of them rushed in be- 
lieving that the Mosquito Fleet would be the 
first to see active service. A more truly dem- 
ocratic group of men was never gathered to- 
gether. Here they were college athletes, sons 
of millionaires, successful young business men, 
adventurers and paupers, types of every de- 
scription and kind, but all of them true pa- 
triots. For all of them had rushed in behev- 
ing that our navy would be the only part of 
our military machine to see service in the great 
war. 

As I came on deck, standing at the head 
of the stairs was a clean-cut, alert, splendid 
looking sailor standing at attention. Upon 
our request he quickly stepped into the Cap- 
tain's room to inform him that his guests had 
arrived for mess. As the lad came out of the 
cabin and passed me, he inquired if this was 
Mr. Whitehair of Cornell. 

On being answered in the affirmative he 
said: 

"Please ask him if he knows my father." 
180 



"HOMESICK? YES" 

Know him? He was the last man I had 
tried to call on the telephone to say goodbye 
to before I left for the War Zone. At once, 
his officer sent for him in order that he might 
accompany us as we went over the ship. 

Here was an example of true democracy, 
for not only did he go on the tour of inspec- 
tion with us, but his officer asked him to ex- 
plain everything to us. As we followed our 
young University friend over the ship, we 
realized that he represented the type that will 
help to bring this war to only one conclusion 
— complete victory. He was as intent in 
mastering every detail of the ship as he had 
ever been to work out his University problems. 

After mess, as I sat on his bunk talking 
over the battles that these lads were facing, 
thousands of miles from home, I truly realized 
that the Y. M. C. A. had come to be the great 
watchful, loving, forgiving mother. It has 
gone in to help and guide the lads aright in- 
stead of criticizing. 

For, after all, the greatest battle of all is 
probably the moral battle. As we stood on 
deck and I said goodbye to my friend I asked 

181 



OUT THERE 

him what was the word he wanted me to take 
back to America. Looking me squarely in 
the eye and thinking of course of that little 
wife back in America, he replied without a 
moment's hesitation: 

"Tell them I should like to come home, but 
I am not coming until the show is over." 

Homesick? Of course he is. But he is ab- 
solutely determined to see the thing through 
to a finish. And all down through the Amer- 
ican camps I found that same spirit, "not 
coming home until the show is over." 

One afternoon as I entered a Y. M. C. A. 
tent down in the camps of the Americans, I 
found a whole crowd packed and jammed 
around the canteen counter, eagerly waiting, 
not for their turn to buy a package of Bull 
Durham or some chocolate, but eager to catch 
every word that was falling from the lips of 
that fine wholesome American woman back of 
the counter. What she was saying mattered 
little to them, save that here was a woman 
who had come thousands of miles overseas to 
serve and help them. 

Certainly she of all women ought to know 
182 



"HOMESICK? YES" 

soldiers, for it was no other than Mrs. Arthur 
Gleason, the wife of the American journahst. 
She and her husband served for over a year 
in Flanders under the German guns. They 
belong to that small group of Americans who 
had not waited for their country to come into 
the war but had heard the call of a suffering 
needy people and responded to it. They went 
into Belgium and were captured by the Ger- 
mans as they came on toward Paris. They 
were released. Undaunted they stayed on, 
ministering to the wounded, helping to care 
for the suffering httle children in spite of 
dangers and without thought of themselves. 

Mrs. Gleason was decorated by the King 
of Belgium for her bravery and service to the 
people of Belgium. As we stood in the 
American camp, she spoke of these great big 
whole-hearted American boys. As she put it: 
"I never knew men could get so homesick 
as these men seem to get. 

"They are always wanting to talk with you 
about home, talk with you about their sweet- 
hearts, showing you their letters, bringing in 
their pictures to exhibit, always anxious for a 

183 



OUT THERE 

word of comfort and cheer, and a bit of sym- 
pathy such as only a woman can give." 

Undoubtedly one of the most unique pieces 
of service being rendered in France by the 
Y. M. C. A. is the service which is being ren- 
dered by these fine clean, wholesome Ameri- 
can women who are going over at their own 
expense, under the direction of the Y. M. 
C. A. to work among the American boys. 

What are they doing? Up at 5.30 or 6 
in the morning, wasliing dishes, serving coffee, 
tea, looking after the canteen, and in every 
possible way doing all they can to help the 
boys in the camps. Many times standing all 
day long, wading through mud and water, 
living in all sorts of houses, without fire in the 
house, and without the comfort of a bath. 

Britain has sent hundreds of her finest 
women to France to serve in the British 
camps. I remember hearing the story told 
of one boy who had been in the trenches for 
weeks and had come out with his regiment. 
They were all crowding into the Y. M. C. A. 
to get a cup of tea. There were so many of 
them it was impossible to serve more than one 

184 



"HOMESICK? YES" 

cup to each boy. But one lad after getting 
his cup of tea kept hanging around the coun- 
ter as if waiting for something else. At last 
one of the ladies noticing him said: 

"You know, my boy, we can only '^ive you 
one cup of tea," 

"I know that, but I don't want your tea." 
"Well, what is it you want?" 
"Oh, I just want to hear your voice." 
After weeks and days in the trenches, the 
kind sympathetic voice of a woman meant 
more to the lad than anything else that could 
be given to him. 

I think possibly the biggest sm'prise I had 
on first going to the war was the constant call- 
ing for a certain song when I asked them 
"What shall we sing tonight?" I have heard 
it come ringing back to me from the great 
army camps in the desert, from the camps 
all along the canal, in the great training 
camps in England and Scotland, ap and down 
the Western front; I have heard it with the 
Yankees down in France, I have heard it in 
the officers' reserve camps in America, from 
young University men who three months be- 

185 



OUT THERE 

fore would have laughed if any one had called 
for it. 

"WHAT SHALL WE SING?" 

"Where is my Wandering Boy tonight." 

And nobody laughs. 

Homesick? Of course, they are homesick. 

I have never heard a single soldier call for 
"Home, Sweet Home." That would be one 
too many. 

The women Y. M. C. A. workers are called 
upon to do all sorts of work. In Cairo I 
found one of the ladies who was helping to 
get the men into touch with their homes as 
many of them were failing to get their letters. 
She told me of the following touching inci- 
dent: 

"A man, one of the Shrouvra Guard, called 
for letters. He stated that for seven months 
he had not received a letter from his wife and 
felt that he would go out of his mind if he did 
not hear soon. I wrote to the Military Base 
Post Office, Alexandria, and to the 'Sick and 
Wounded Post Office' and asked them to 
post all the letters they had or would receive 
to him at this address. Some five weeks later 

186 



"HOMESICK? YES" 

he and five mates called for letters. I handed 
him a large bundle of letters from his wife, 
he burst into tears and kissed the envelopes 
again and again. A week later he returned 
and insisted on my taking a 10 piastre piece, 
saying 'I am not a wealthy man, Sister, and 
have the wife and kids at home, but I must 
give something, I am so grateful.'" Since 
then he has received over a hundred letters, 
and in his last mail received three letters di- 
rect from Australia. 

The one appeal that is helping to keep men 
clean and pure is the appeal to be true to the 
home folks. Many of the women who have 
gone into the camps to serve the boys are 
wealthy women who have never before 
thought of comforts of other people, but have 
lived a selfish life. But out in France today 
they are truly catching a new vision of the 
democracy of tomorrow. 

In the French city where the Mosquito 
Fleet was making its base, it was found there 
was no desirable place for the American 
sailors to eat when on leave. The American 
Y. M. C. A. had no intention of going into 

187 



OUT THERE 

the restaurant business, but it had coveted, 
with the American public, the privilege of fol- 
lowing and helping take care of the American 
soldiers. 

It was quite evident that a restaurant must 
be started. A large place was rented and 
the money to start the restaurant was fur- 
nished by a well known American woman who 
was living there at the time. After every- 
thing was ready, it was found there was no 
one to run the restaurant. However, it was 
opened the first night with a splendid group 
of American women waiting on tables, one of 
whom afterwards said that the first night she 
had the privilege of waiting on a lad who had 
been a table steward on her husband's yacht 
less than a year before. 

The lads have gone forward with aching 
hearts and smihng lips. They constantly 
seem to keep in mind that all of the heroes 
are not at the battle front, but that the brave 
heroic mothers, wives and sweethearts who 
have sent them forth are truly carrying their 
share of the great world conflict. 



CHAPTER XIV 



'keeping the home fires burning" 



No army has ever taken the field more 
carefully guarded and protected from a moral 
standpoint than the present American Army. 
No army has ever gone into the field with 
more comforts and touches of home. The 
Committee on Public Information in their 
bulletin number 19 stated: 

"The need for this is great indeed. Statis- 
tics of the first years of the war are said to 
show that in one of the highest grade Colonial 
Armies which suffered most under fire, the 
dead and wounded numbered fewer than 8 
per cent., while disability from avoidable dis- 
ease rose to 20 per cent." 

Our country at the very outset of our entry 
into the war faced the facts. Our Secretary 
of War appointed a Commission on Training 
Camp Activities. Realizing that vice may 
become the enemy's best ally, they at once 
faced that issue. For as our honored ex-Pres- 

189 



OUT THERE 

ident, William H. Taft, has so v/ell stated: 

"If you mass thousands of men together, 
take them away from home influences, and 
put them into a camp where they have hours 
of leisure, it is certain that vice will be mobi- 
lized in the vicinity of that camp. It is to be 
expected that unless there is something to 
help them, the boys will take the downward 
path. An examination shows that one of the 
most deteriorating effects upon an army and 
its fighting capacity results from this mobili- 
zation of the underworld in the neighborhood 
of these camps. The Y. M. C. A. is an anti- 
dote for that poison." 

The Y. M. C. A. was called upon by the 
Commission to help solve this problem. 

It has in a remarkable way answered the 
call. 

Into the camps, great and small, the Y. M. 
C. A. has gone, not to criticize the lad who has 
a tendency to forget home and home influ- 
ences, but rather to make the Hut in the camp 
so cheerful and homelike that the boy will 
have no desire, when off duty, to go into the 
village or city for relaxation and amusement. 

190 



"THE HOME FIRES" 

I recall going into an Australian Depot 
Camp in France, which was near a large city 
that had a "state regulated" section of houses 
of prostitution with guards at either end of 
those streets, not to prevent soldiers from en- 
tering but to keep order and prevent them 
from entering only at stated hours. 

In the large Military Camp I found two 
enormous Y. M. C. A. plants. Each had a 
large Canteen Hut, a big Cinema Hall, a 
Concert Hall, Writing Rooms, and quiet 
rooms for meditation, Bible study and prayer. 
For men appreciate tremendously a quiet 
room where they can sit down for a little 
while away from the din of war. In the 
buildings were nineteen pool and billiard 
tables; pianos, and many other smaller and 
more simple attractions. 

I arrived in the camp at five thirty on an 
ordinary afternoon. The canteens and writ- 
ing rooms were packed with men. Both con- 
cert and cinema halls were jammed with 
happy-faced boys. Between the two plants 
was a large natural amphitheatre in the center 
of which was a big boxing platform. Around 

191 



OUT THERE 

the ring were packed three thousand men 
watching a sparring match. Judging from 
the way those chaps were slugging, it is a mis- 
nomer to call it a sparring match. 

More than six thousand men were being 
entertained and kept busy by the Y. M. C. A. 
In the city, outside those houses of shame, the 
streets were empty. 

The "big-hearted Camp Mother," the Y. M. 
C. A., was at work "Keeping the Home Ties 
Firm." The religion of a clean, wholesome 
life had entered the camp. 

Refereeing the boxing matcK that after- 
noon was a preacher. 

One afternoon in one of the American Base 
Camps I was asked to be present at the fu- 
neral of the first American sailor lad to lay 
down his life for his country overseas since our 
entry into the war. Arriving at the hospital 
before the hour set for the funeral I went into 
the ward to visit the boys who were in the 
hospital. Entering the ward, my eyes rested 
on two splendid looking lads who were in ad- 
joining cots. As I started along the ward 
both of them quietly slipped out their Teste- 

192 



"THE HOME FIRES" 

ments from under their pillows and laid them 
on the stand beside them. Poor lads, both of 
them were so keen on leaving a good impres- 
sion on the Y. M. C. A. Secretary. 

I sat down between them, both less than 
eighteen years of age, both from one of the 
finest preparatory schools in America. As 
they started to tell me their troubles, it came 
to my mind that both of these poor unfortu- 
nate boys were there with the mark of sin 
upon them. The most dreaded of all diseases 
of vice had them in its clutches. They told 
me how, the first night on shore leave, with 
their minds dulled by wine they had gone into 
a certain house through curiosity. 

Here was the answer. 

When they went back to their ship they 
had failed to report for prophylaxis, and the 
coming days revealed that their first misstep 
had cost them a lifetime of regrets. 

As I sat beside them — did I criticize? No. 
They needed compassion and pity and encour- 
agement more than any other thing in the 
world. After a half hour of trying to cheer 
them up, I went out under the trees to stand 

193 



OUT THERE 

beside the coffin of the boy who had given his 
life for home and country. Standing beside 
his coffin, we sang: 

1 need Thy presence every passing hour; 

Who, but Thy grace, can foil the tempter's 
power? 
Who, like Thyself, my Guide and Stay can be? 

Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, 
Abide with me! 

I somehow felt that he had been more for- 
tunate than the poor erring lads inside the 
hospital. He had gone with his record clean 
and white. 

Thank God the above cases are small when 
we consider the millions of men who have been 
rooted up out of their homes and familiar 
environment, and sent thousands of miles 
away into a strange land. 

In the large cities lie the greatest pitfalls 
to boys who are on leave. Frankly facing this 
fact, the American General Staff has called 
upon the Y. M. C. A\ to provide for them. 

A string of hotels has been opened in Paris 
and the other large cities. When a soldier 
reaches the city, a Y. M. C. A. motor car 

194 



"THE HOME FIRES" 

meets him at the station and takes him to a 
delightful Y. M. C. A. hotel. It is being run 
by American women. 

In Paris in a hotel for the Officers the en- 
tire dining room service is handled by Mrs. 
Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. Associated with her, 
ten other splendid American women act as 
waitresses and hostesses. The cigar and news- 
stand is being run by a daughter of the late 
Grover Cleveland. 

All of these women workers are serving 
without compensation, as are the women 
workers in the canteens. 

A cheerful homelike hotel helps to keep the 
boy away from the moral pitfalls. It gives 
him a breath of home and sends him back 
happy and fit to his regiment a better man 
for his leave. 

Not only Have arrangements been made in 
the city, but E. C. Carter, the Head Ameri- 
can Secretary overseas, has with great wisdom 
and foresight secured hotels in the French 
Alps where the soldiers can come when on 
leave. There they will enjoy winter or sum- 
mer sports away from the great cities. 

195 



OUT THERE 

Before American troops had ever landed in 
Europe Mr. Carter had secured in London a 
Y. M. C. A. hut formerly used for British 
troops, so that when they landed in Britain 
they found waiting for them one of the finest 
Y. M. C. A. buildings in all the war zone. 
The building provides five hundred beds, a 
great concert hall, four large fireplaces, bil- 
liard and pool tables, and a large American 
restaurant which can serve one thousand boys 
at a meal. Last, but not least, it has an 
American soda fountain, one of the first to be 
installed in London. 

Running this enormous plant is a staff of 
almost four hundred volunteer women workers. 

Not only this, but motor cars are constantly 
being run during the day taking around 
parties of sight-seeing soldiers. At night a 
staff of cars goes all over the city picking up 
soldier boys who are wandering about the 
streets, or have forgotten themselves for a 
little while and are in a condition where they 
need a friend. 

Down in the camps where the American 
soldiers are billeted are to be found the little 

196 



"THE HOME FIRES" 

wine shops, but, fortunately we find few 
American boys in them. Those who are off 
duty are in and around the Y. M. C. A. hav- 
ing a good time or writing home letters. 

In most cases when the British troops go on 
leave they can cross to England and be at 
home, or among friends or relatives. The 
American has no such luck. He is thousands 
of miles from home. He can go only to the 
great cities or some other place among stran- 
gers. 

But our concern in America need not be so 
great, as we think of our lonely sons going 
on leave toward the great cities where always 
lurks temptation. We need to thank God 
and stop our worrying, for Dr. Henry Van 
Dyke has so well told the story in the follow- 
ing lines: 

THE Y. M. C. A. HUTS 
In the camps around our country and in countries 
far away 
There's a lot of wooden houses that are marked 
Y. M. C. A. 
And some are painted yellow and some are brown 
and green, 
Now, say, who owns these houses and what do the 
fetters mean? 

197 



OUT THERE 

They mean a bit of comfort and they mean a place 
to rest, 
Where every tired soldier boy is welcome as a 
guest. 
They mean a bit o' friendly talk, some music, and 
some jokes, 
And some quiet little corners for writing to our 
folks. 

They mean a bit of human love amid the storm of 
war, 
They mean the word of healing for spirits wounded 
sore, 
They mean a simple message from God's own holy 
word, 
And they mean the thought of the home-land 
when the sweet old hymns are heard. 

You ask who owns these houses.? I think you know 
His name, 
You call Him Savior, Master, Lord, the meanin's 
just the same. 
'Tis the One who gave Himself for us, the Leader of 
our Life, 
We pray He'll lead and keep our boys, in peril 
and in strife. 

O keep them strong and steady and keep them clean 
and true! 
Help them to battle for the right and put the vic- 
tory through! 

198 



"THE HOME FIRES" 

Be Thou their shield and buckler ; but if one is struck 
down, 
O, Captain of salvation, give him the heavenly 
crown ! 

Yes, there is the big warm-hearted Y. M. 
C. A. worker reaching out to grasp the hand 
of your boy and keep him straight and steady 
— doing for him what you yourself would like 
to do. In the biggest sense of the words: 

"Keeping the HOME Fires Burning" in 
his heart. 



CHAPTER XV 



"EGYPTIAN nights" 



Away in the distance, rising out of a sea 
of burning sand, are the barren, angry look- 
ing hills. Evening shadows steal over those 
barren hills and forsaken sands, as if half 
afraid to drive away the relentless rays of the 
desert day. 

It is the outpost of the Empire. As the 
darkness deepens, we stand in the midst of 
the outpost camp. Quietly the defenders of 
the Empire that had come across ten thousand 
miles of land and sea gather around us. 

When they had seated themselves on the 
sand, I stood among them telling the old 
stoiy of the Christ who lived on these desert 
sands, who lived and died that men might have 
a more abundant life. They caught the story ; 
for had they not come from far distant Aus- 
tralia to give their lives, if need be, for the 
more abundant life of those whom they held 
dear? 

200 



"EGYPTIAN NIGHTS" 

They were living in a temperature of 120 
degrees to 130 degrees in the shade; and there 
was no shade. But that was not the greatest 
hardship. Each man was allowed only one 
gallon of water a day for cooking, drinking 
and washing. They are always thirsty, always 
hot, always cheerful. 

After I had talked to them for some time 
we ended our meeting singing: 

Abide with me, fast falls the eventide. 
The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide. 

As the men went off quietly, m the appal- 
ling silence of the desert night to their bunks, 
one chap came up to talk. He expressed 
truly the spirit of the man in the desert camp. 

"Yes, it is a great life. Mister. We get hot 
and we get thirsty. Our shoes get full of 
sand and we get jolly well fed up with it all. 
But there is one good thing. When you get 
ready to go to bed, all you got to do is just 
quit smihng. 

"Has anybody told you about the men that 
got lost a few weeks ago? Ten men were on 
patrol (camel patrol) five days into the desert, 
the stars by night to guide them, and the 

201 



OUT THERE 

compass and sun by day. Out on the barren, 
trackless desert, they got lost looking for the 
enemy. Their camels went footsore, and only 
two of the men were able to go on. These 
two volunteered to try and go through to 
camp and bring relief. They thought they 
could find the way, and after miles of wan- 
dering and hours of agony they arrived in 
camp. 

"Their tongues were swollen out of their 
mouths. One of the camels fell dead as he 
staggered into camp and one of the men died 
a few hours after he got in. The other man 
could not speak; he could only point to the 
desert. They knew what he meant. 

"They followed the foot tracks of the 
camels across the sand. Fortunately no sand 
storms had come up, no wind had been blow- 
ing. They found the other eight men and 
brought them in. Only two or three of them 
recovered, for some of them it was insanity 
and some of them death." 

Later on that night the commanding Cap- 
tain, who since has been mentioned in dis- 
patches, lay on the sand in his tent, his map 

202 



"EGYPTIAN NIGHTS" 

spread out before him. He was teUing me 
about the Senussi and their campaign. He 
said: 

"By the way, that chap you were talking 
to, did he tell you about the men being lost 
in the desert?" 

"Yes." 

"Did he tell you that he was the man that 
brought the message?" 

"No, he left that part untold." 

Long into the night we lay on our blankets 
on the sand watching the dancing stars. 

Think of these brown-faced heroes! They 
would laugh at you and tell you to stop kid- 
ding if you called them that! 

The Captain had told us that in case of a 
surprise attack, part of his men would retire 
with their camels a short distance toward the 
base camp. The remainder would make their 
stand here. 

"But what if the enemy comes in too large 
numbers?" 

"Oh, that. Well, we will just stick it, and 
we could at least stop them long enough to 
give the base camp a chance to get ready." 

203 



OUT THERE 

No thought of surrender, no thought of re- 
treat. 

The morning light is breaking over the bar- 
ren hills before we fall asleep in this far flung 
outpost of the Empire. 

By train, we go from Cairo to Suez. There 
we join the Australian Secretary, William 
Owens, a blue-eyed Australian, vibrant with 
dauntless optimism and inexhaustible vitality, 
who is in charge of the work of the "Red 
Triangle" along the Canal and in the camps 
of Palestine. He had taken the "Red Tri- 
angle" on to the shell swept shores of Gallip- 
oli, and has since carried it into Jerusalem. 
We go by motor boat down the shores of the 
Sinai Peninsula, out by a little railroad to 
Moses' Well. Speaking there at night, we 
then go by motor boat back past Suez, night 
after night, to the rail head camps to speak 
to the men, then on to the next camp. Out 
to the rail head we go, and then in the Gen- 
eral's car to the front trenches, where we find 
a small Y. M. C. A. tent, "camouflaged" so 
as to hide it from "Johnny" Turk's plans. 
But it has all the comforts in the way of lime 

204 




if 




ft 




^i;M 




^If 




4 m 


i ^ 


'$ 0- 'i 


r 





-M 



o 

u 

H 
o 



0) 



U 



"EGYPTIAN NIGHTS" 

juice, biscuits, tea, cigarettes and nicknacks 
for the dust-covered, parched troops. 

Night after night we are speaking in 
crowded tents or overflowing huts, or mat 
sheds. The men fairly lift the roof with the 
old songs of the church, for nowhere have I 
heard men sing as soldiers sing on active duty. 
As we cease speaking and ask the men who 
want to take a stand for the Christian life to 
hold up their hands, one hundred and fifty 
or two hundred hands are shoved straight into 
the air, as these men take their stand for a 
cleaner and better life. 

As we go through the camps during the 
day, and hear their conversation, we wonder 
if some of our padres back home would not 
think these the most Godless men in all the 
world. Swearing at their camels, for most 
of them are camel riders, swearing at their 
treatment, swearing at their luck, swearing 
at everything in sight, one would think these 
men would never listen to a religious address. 

But as we tell the story of the Cross, these 
same lads, that same evening are leaning for- 
ward to once again hear the old story. As we 

207 



OUT .THERE 

ask them to make their decision for a Christian 
life, up go their hands and off they go into 
the night, determined in their hearts to be 
cleaner and purer men. Love, friendship, 
sacrifice are the subjects that seem to always 

grip. 

In all the meetings where I have spoken to 
soldiers I only recall one man who was dis- 
respectful or inattentive when I was speaking 
on a Christian theme. 

It was in one of the camps on the far flung 
battle line that stretched out toward Jerusa- 
lem. The tent was crowded with the men 
w^ho had gone through those awful days of 
Gallipoli. As I stood to start the meeting I 
called out "Men, what are we going to sing 
tonight?" Contrary to the usual answer, 
"Jesus Lover of My Soul," "Abide with Me," 
or some other hymn, there came back an en- 
tirely different reply, for there was one Aus- 
tralian down in front who was determined 
that we were not going to have any religious 
meeting. There was no doubt in Kis mind 
about it. 

He stood about six feet four, and looked as 
208 



"EGYPTIAN NIGHTS" 

if he weighed about one hundred and twenty 
pounds, a human skeleton. As I said, "What 
are we going to sing?" he threw back his head 
and bellowed out: "Twinkle, twinkle, little 
star." 

We did not sing it, but we started the meet- 
ing. It was indeed an interesting meeting. 
He had the bigger hearing part of the time, 
and I had the bigger hearing the other part 
of the time. In the middle of my address, I 
told the following story, and as I told the 
story my long, lean, Australian friend forgot 
to talk. 

The first year I left home to enter the War 
Zone, my wife, little daughter and little son 
went down to the boat to say goodbye to me. 
My little son as he looked me in the eye, said: 
"Dad, I am not going to cry." 
As I went to the boat he stood on the pier, 
biting his lips, watching the boat slowly leav- 
ing the dock, but he did not cry. Feeling that 
the strain had been too great on him, I told 
him as I was leaving the second year for 
Egypt: 

"Now, Jay, if you have to cry today, do it 
209 



OUT THERE 

and it is all right, but we will try to keep a 
stiff upper lip." 

"AU right, Dad, I will try." 

We went down to the boat, and he bit his 
little lips until they turned purple, and he did 
not cry, though he came near to it. As the 
big liner backed out into the river and turned 
her nose down toward the great ocean, I filled 
my eyes with the last sight of those three loved 
ones standing on the dock waving their little 
blue flags as they faded out of sight. 

There came this week a letter from a friend 
of mine who stood on the pier beside my little 
boy as the boat left. He said that as the boat 
got out into the river, my little son seemed 
to forget everybody on the pier. All he could 
think of was his dad, and that his dad was 
leaving him. As he looked at the ship, he 
threw out his hands and cried at the top of 
his voice: 

"That ship cannot sink because my daddy 
said so." 

My friend said there was not a dry eye 
around them. He believed in his dad, and his 
dad had said that that was an American ship 

210 



"EGYPTIAN NIGHTS" 

and it was not going to sink and he believed 
him. 

"Men, tonight that little son of mine thinks 
I am the biggest man in the world. He 
would not think of trading me for the Presi- 
dent. 

"Tonight on this desert, there is not a man 
who isn't the biggest man in the world to 
somebody. Somebody loves you more than 
any other thing in all the world, and believes 
in you. Somebody thinks you are just the 
one fellow in all the world. Men, tonight I 
would rather the cables would carry back to 
that little son and daughter of mine and my 
wife, the news that my bones were baking 
under the Egyptian sun, or rotting in a Teu- 
tonic prison camp, than to have the news go 
to them that I have stood in that line of men 
in Alexandria or Cairo going as sheep to the 
slaughter, forgetting home, love and honor. 

"You know what I mean. No, you would 
rather have them know you were dead than 
to have them know you had been untrue. For 
after all, it is not material things that count 
in this world. We have learned that. It is 

211 



OUT THERE 

not the thrills of life that count. It is only 
the man that counts. It is character that 
counts, and you would not want that person 
to know that you had been untrue." 

The men on the desert caught the story. 
My lean Australian friend's head went down 
on his chest. We just had one speaker after 
that. 

At the close of the meeting, when I asked 
these men who wanted to swear to God that 
they would be true and clean, to stand up, 
my Australian friend was the first to stand. 
Jle came up afterwards, shoved out his bony 
hand and said: 

"I want to shake hands with you. I stood 
in that line in Alexandria which you were 
talking about, less than a week ago. I have 
been a scoundrel, I have not played the game 
square. If you will pray for me, by God's 
help I will be true to my little wife and kiddies 
back in Australia." 

I would rather have heard those words that 
night than any other words. "I am going 
to be true to the folks back home." 

Hardship, sacrifice and death is the every- 
212 



"EGYPTIAN NIGHTS" 

day life of the men who have gone forth to 
make the world "safe for democracy." Not 
only must they face the enemy's bullets, but 
the men who have gone down into the desert 
must face privation, heat, thirst and the lonely 
camp life, hundreds of miles from water and 
cooling shade. 

Just before I arrived at the Lybian outpost, 
two aeroplanes were sent out on a scouting 
trip, miles and miles from camp. One of 
them broke down and the other came back to 
camp for help. It seems that the one that 
broke down must have finally been repaired, 
because when they went back with water and 
help it was gone. For days and days they 
hunted and finally found the machine where 
it had again broken down. The pilot had 
shot himself. The mechanic had died of thirst. 
The mechanic had left a note, telling of the 
pilot's death. From what could be gathered 
it was evident that the pilot had taken his own 
life, thinking the mechanic, a mere lad, might 
live on the little water which was left until 
help came. 

He gave his life that his friend might live. 
213 



OUT THERE 

But help came too late. The mechanic had 
drunk all of the water and had even broken 
the compass and drunk the spirits in order 
to quench that mad-driving thirst. But the 
desert claimed him as its own. 

The Red Triangle has come to mean ser- 
vice, service for soldiers whether at base 
camps, at the front or a lonely desert outpost. 

In one of the desert camps it was near 
midnight when a lieutenant roused our secre- 
tary after a busy day, with the words: "Can 
you do anything for my men? Provisions are 
out and we've marched 20 miles since early 
afternoon." And shortly the 700 dust-cov- 
ered, weary men whose tongues were well 
nigh hanging out were served hot cocoa and 
tea and lime juice and cake. They marched 
off again at 3 A. M. in new spirits. At 3.30 
another officer broke in asking that something 
be done for his 70 men. In twenty minutes 
the secretary and his force were serving them. 
Night or day the work goes on. 

At the close of a hot and scorching day, in 
the calm and quiet evening twilight, the fol- 
lowing story of heroic sacrifice was told me 

214 



"EGYPTIAN NIGHTS" 

by Roy Clark, an Australian Y. M. C. A. 
Secretary for oversea troops. 

In the summer of 1916, many of the Aus- 
tralian troops that had been in Gallipoli, and 
were now in Egypt, were being moved to 
the Western front. Practically all of these 
men who had been through the hell of the Dar- 
danelles were keen and anxious to go to the 
Western front, as most of them were under 
the impression that they would see very little 
service in Egypt. The men who were being 
moved to the Western front were counting 
themselves lucky, notwithstanding the fact 
that they knew exactly what they were going 
to face. 

Two Australian divisions were leaving 
Egypt for France. A trooper in the Light 
Horse, whose soul was pulsating with patriot- 
ism and whose division was not going forward, 
smuggled himself aboard one of the trans- 
ports. 

In due course he was discovered, placed 
under guard and returned from France to his 
own division back in Egypt. When he arrived 
at his unit he was tried and court martialed. 

215 



OUT THERE 

It was two days before a famous fight. On 
the day of the battle, the pressure became so 
tense and so crucial that every man was 
needed to fight. The trooper for a little 
while was left unguarded. 

He was unarmed. But the trooper, who 
was not a coward, because it had been his very 
bravery that had gotten him into such serious 
difficulty, forgetting all but his love for coun- 
try, immediately went to work without orders 
and, in defiance of his arrest, that day under 
fire brought in fifteen men. 

At the close of the day his brave chest 
stopped a stray bullet, and he "went west." 

His Colonel told the story at the hospital 
and said that he had been recommended for 
the D. C. M. He was asked: 

"How about the court martial?" 

The colonel naively repUed: "The papers 
have been lost." 

"Greater love hath no man than this, that 
a man lay down his life for his friends." 



CHAPTER XVI 

"where there ain't no ten command- 
ments" 

Early in the war it became apparent that 
Egypt once more was to take her place on 
the World Stage. Egypt is the gateway to 
the Orient, through which Germany believed 
she might enter in her policy of alienating 
India from Britain. At the same time she 
would draw together the Moslem world in 
her damnable program of arraying the Mo- 
hammedan world against the Allies. Like- 
wise the Suez Canal is the strategic artery 
of the British Empire, connecting India, 
Australia and New Zealand with the Mother 
Country. 

Germany, through Turkey, began her cam- 
paign against the Canal. As far as battles 
go, the battles on the desert sands have been 
far overshadowed as we view the battles of 
the Western front. But from a military and 
political viewpoint they have been of first 
importance. 

Across the sands the Turks came in their 
217 



OUT THERE 

effort to dislodge Britain from the Canal. 
Back, back they have been driven until Je- 
rusalem once more rests in Christian hands. 
In the Lybian Desert the Senussi have risen 
only to be driven to the oasis in the heart of 
the great wastes, there to be defeated and 
disbanded. 

These operations have been of great im- 
portance. Mr. Lloyd George has said, "They 
have played a considerable part in the for- 
tunes of the war. It is such ancient history 
now that we have almost forgotten that, 
after the evacuation of Gallipoli, Egypt was 
supposed to be in danger, and the Turks 
launched at least two desperate efforts to 
dislodge us from the Sinai Peninsula and the 
Canal. Those attacks were repelled and the 
British Army, after rendering the position 
in Egypt secure, was able to carry out the 
long-meditated advance, clear Sinai and the 
Canal, and move forward to Jerusalem. The 
Egyptian Campaign has not been without 
its episodes of hard fighting and personal 
heroism, but it is as a triumph of scientific 
organization that I would especially men- 



THERE AIN'T NO COMMANDMENTS 

tion it. In the operations that are going on 
in Palestine, every pound of stores, every 
gallon of water that is drunk by the troops, 
has to be carried all the way from Egypt 
across one hundred and fifty miles of desert. 
This is a feat that rivals what has been ac- 
complished so successfully in France." 

Into Egypt at the beginning of the war 
were sent the care-free, happy-go-lucky lads 
from far-distant Australia and New Zealand. 
They are much like a group of school boys 
off on a lark. In those days little did they 
realize the awful Gallipoli days that were 
ahead of them. 

Certainly no finer type of physical beings 
ever answered one country's call. They 
looked like Roman gods and walked like 
kings. They owned no master and came 
only through love and loyalty to their coun- 
try's call. 

Most of their officers were like their men, 
happy, care-free, honest and straightforward. 
They feared neither man nor devil. The 
following story is rather descriptive of these 
remarkable almost supermen: 

219 



OUT THERE 

Into Shepherd's Hotel in Cairo there 
strolled an Australian Colonel who had been 
sent over on some special work. He had 
been a business man back in Australia, and 
had been commissioned and sent out just a 
short time before. As he walked into the 
lobby of the hotel, he observed an old British 
General. Meaning no offense whatever, the 
Colonel waved his hand in a careless way and 
said, "Good evening." 

The old General, horrified at such disre- 
spect, straightened up and stared at the 
Colonel. 

The Colonel strolled over, never realizing 
what was the matter. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"Young man, how long have you worn that 
uniform?" 

"Oh, just a few weeks. How long have 
you worn yours?" 

The old General, almost jumping from his 
chair, replied: 

"Thirty-five years." 

"That's a devil of a while to wear a uni- 
form, isn't it?" 

220 



THERE AIN'T NO COMMANDMENTS 

The old General by this time was grow- 
ing almost frantic. 

"Young man, have you read the King's 
regulations?" 

"No, I have not had time." 

"This is dreadful, this is dreadful!" 

"Old man, I don't know what you are 
trying to say to me, but all I got to say is 
you're damn funny." And off he strolled. 

Did he mean to be disrespectful? No. 
He was only a typical AustraUan that would 
fight to the death, but could not see any 
need of too much formal discipline. 

Before Gallipoli such conduct was misun- 
derstood, but after they were purged by fire 
and death, and after the word had come 
forth from Gallipoli from the Brigadier 
"that no fighter can surpass Australians," 
no one misunderstood them. It was quite 
sufficient to say, "He is an Australian." 
That smnmed up all. 

Into camp they went under the shadow of 
the pyramids, with the "centuries looking 
down upon them." 
After the work of the day, these great 



OUT THERE 

husky farmer lads have no place to go out- 
side of their own crowded little bell tents. 
As evening comes, those on leave go down 
through the beautiful rows of trees under 
the spell of an oriental evening into romantic 
and mystical Cairo. If one had watched 
them he would have made up his mind they 
feared the war was about over, and they 
would need to hurry if they expected to 
purchase Cairo before they left for home. 
They left a silver path behind them, and un- 
doubtedly every Egyptian made up his mind 
that their pockets had a silver lining. The 
ordinary British soldier got one bob a day, 
or twenty-five cents; the Australians and New 
Zealanders, six bob, or a dollar fifty a day. 
On account of their free, easy, spending way, 
they were nicknamed "The Six Bob a Day 
Tourists." 

Cairo, in those days, was all that has been 
written about it, and then some. The Waza 
was possibly the vilest and most seductive 
red-light district the Hcentious East has pro- 
duced. Here was concentrated the vice of 
the Orient. It had also become the dumping 

222 



THERE AINT NO COMMANDMENTS 

ground of all Europe. These Australian lads 
found themselves in this environment with 
plenty of money, with all the allurement of 
sin on every side, and not one single hotel 
or restaurant in Cairo where he could get a 
cup of tea, or write a letter, without being 
subjected to demorahzing influences, such as 
exist in all oriental cities. Large camps 
were established on the outskirts of the cities 
Mena, Zeiton, HeliopoHs and Maadi. The 
troops came to town nightly by the thou- 
sands, and quite naturally, as no other pro- 
vision had been made, they swarmed to the 
quarter which offered most diversion. 

iWilliam Jessop, Head Secretary of Y. M. 
C. A. Forces in Egypt, moved forward as 
only a prophet and a general could move for- 
ward. When the forces began to land in 
Egypt, he was the one lone Y. M. C. A. 
secretary. He went to his board and asked 
for funds to begin work among the soldiers. 
His board, with what they considered a great 
faith, voted that he could spend one hundred 
dollars in looking after these thousands of 
men, providing he secured the money. 

223 



OUT THERE 

But the undaunted Jessop moved forward, 
and today the red triangle floats in every 
single military camp in Egypt. Hundreds 
of thousands of dollars are being spent. Tens 
of thousands of men are being served. I have 
gone from one end to the other of the great 
Desert Camps. In every single camp vis- 
ited I saw the "Red Triangle" flying. There 
are nearly a hundred Y. M. C. A. centers 
with the Egyptian army, and today Cairo is 
as clean a city as any in the war zone. 

However, that first year of the war in 
Cairo, many men went down not with bullets, 
but with the mark of the beast upon them. 

The saddest thing I have seen in the war 
zone is not the men coming back from No 
Man's Land, torn and mangled. No one 
ever forgets that, as he goes into certain hos- 
pitals surrounded by barb-wire fences, every 
man in the hospital is there because of his 
own sin. 

I have spoken with them on some Chris- 
tian theme, and afterwards they have come 
up and said: 

"Oh! yes, what you say is true. We are 




At the Outpost of the Empire 




After the Waza War 



THERE AINT NO COMMANDMENTS 

going to play the game square from now on, 
but what is the use? We cannot go home. 
I cannot go back and look my sweetheart 
in the face. She can never be my wife. I 
can never go back to my wife or face my 
mother with this thing on me. I have said 
to the Commander, 'Patch me up, get me to 
the front line trench ; I cannot go home.' " 

How could you ever forget those words! 

The question of a man's keeping clean is 
not a question of a man's relation to his God 
alone. The matter of keeping clean includes 
the question of a man's relation to his coun- 
try. Your country needs you to go forward. 
The time has come to go. Never has our 
nation faced such a struggle as it is facing 
today. Never was every single man needed 
as he is needed at the present, and you can- 
not go. 

You are unfit for service, a traitor to 
your country. 

It is rather remarkable, when one considers 
the large number of men in the armies of 
today, how small a per cent are out of action 
because of sin. The Waza war has been 

227 



OUT THERE 

unheard of in America. However, it is one 
of the finest examples of an army's deter- 
mination to rid itself of a subtle enemy, 
lurking near its own camp. 

One night the Australians turned out three 
thousand strong to burn and destroy "The 
Waza" — the red-light district of Cairo — and 
had not their own troops been called upon 
to quell the riot the Waza would have be- 
come history that night. 

I have come to the conviction that army 
commanders are more concerned with the 
morals of their men than any of us can pos- 
sibly realize. A man who goes down with 
a bullet is out of the game — is neither an 
asset nor a liability. 

But the man who goes down with the mark 
of the beast upon him becomes a liability. 
He is out of the game, for he cannot go to 
the front. Some of them have to be sent 
home, and not only does he become a liability, 
but he requires well men to take care of him. 

The development of the Y. M. C. A. work 
in Egypt is one of the modern miracles. It 
is a tribute to the fine Christian military 

228 



THERE AINT NO COMMANDMENTS 

commanders. The Association was called 
upon to help solve the problem. The mili- 
tary authorities turned over to it the Ezbe- 
kiyeh Gardens, a beautiful public park in 
the heart of Cairo. The grounds are large 
enough to accommodate thousands of men. 

The motto from the start was: "Something 
doing every night." 

Concerts, lectures, cinema, wrestling, box- 
ing, fencing, rink hockey, races, writing and 
reading facilities, hot and cold shower baths, 
and a well-equipped refreshment bar were 
provided, in fact everything that a well- 
organized club could have. The refreshment 
bar was run by a group of devoted English 
women who brought into the Garden the 
home touch. It was not an uncommon sight 
to see thousands of soldiers seated at once 
writing home letters, and four to five thou- 
sand at a cinema show, wrestling match, or 
a religious meeting. 

In addition to the Ezbekiyeh Garden, the 
Military turned over a large building, known 
as the "Bourse Khediviale" (Board of 
Trade). It was renamed the Anzac Hostel. 

229 



OUT THERE 

It was to be used as a hostel or hotel. The 
Military gave twelve thousand dollars to 
equip it. Hundreds of men found a place 
to go and spend the night, when on leave, 
under clean, wholesome influences. 

No longer can the soldiers who are sent 
to Egypt say, "Ship me somewhere East of 
Suez, where the best is like the worst; where 
there ain't no Ten Commandments, and a 
man can raise a thirst," for today near the 
reputed site of the Garden of Eden fifty 
secretaries are at work safeguarding the sol- 
diers against the seductions of evil; and here 
the "Tree of Life" bears its fruit for the 
healing of the nations. 

On plains where Abraham may have 
pitched his tent and Lot turned toward 
Sodom, the Association has pitched scores of 
its marquees, each gathering two hundred to 
five hundred soldiers in friendly shelter. 

Over the way where the traders' caravan 
traversed the desert, bringing Joseph into 
slavery, the Association's caravan with a hun- 
dred camels passes with supplies for the As- 
sociation's farthest desert outposts. 



THERE AINT NO COMMANDMENTS 

In the city where Joseph got his wife are 
seven Association centers. At Assut, where 
Joseph stored corn to feed the famine, the 
Association meets dearth with creature com- 
forts. 

On the same burning sands over which the 
children of Israel made their wilderness wan- 
derings, soldiers are doing forced marches. 
Sweet as manna are the buns and cakes and 
cheer and comfort with the Bread of Life 
that is given there. 

Under the shadow of Mount Sinai, where 
Moses received the tables of Ten Command- 
ments, and the Voice proclaimed *'The Lord 
God merciful and gracious," thousands of 
soldiers wrote home from the Association's 
tents that there God's sons are as living 
epistles, interpreting His new commandment, 
"That Ye Love One Another." 

Near where Moses struck the rock and 
waters gushed forth is another Association 
"Center" which provides refreshments for the 
King's men, parched and wearied from blis- 
tering marches. 

Along the route into Egypt taken by Jo- 
231 



OUT THERE 

seph and Mary with the child Jesus, the 
Association sets up its hospitable tents to 
harbor and hearten the away-from-home sol- 
dier. 

At Alexandria, on the Mediterranean at 
the gateway from Egypt to Africa, at the 
Port of Suez, where Mark, the Apostle, first 
preached the Gospel to a handful, the Asso- 
ciation greeted or sped on their homeward 
way a full hundred thousand soldiers, in the 
spirit of that same Gospel. 



CHAPTER XVII 

"l JUST WANT TO DO MY BIT" 

I have come back from "out there" with 
the realization that we must win the war, and 
that it cannot be won by buying Liberty 
Bonds, giving to the Red Cross or Y. M. 
C. A., by bursts of enthusiasm, or by wav- 
ing of flags and speechmaking alone. 

The war must be won by the lads that go 
over the top and don't come back- 

This fact we must face. 

Britain has been pouring in an endless 
stream of human Hfe. In fact her smallest 
number of casualties in one month since 
1914 has been thirty thousand, while this 
last November they reached one hundred and 
twenty-nine thousand. 

France has been giving, giving, giving, 
until she is now bleeding white. In fact all 
of our Allies have been pouring in their best 
to stem the tide of the barbaric Teutonic 
onslaught. 

America has entered at a time when our 
233 



OUT THERE 

very soul was on trial. Three years we have 
been a bystander at the ringside of the 
world's battle for democracy. We had be- 
come hardened to the reports of awful slaugh- 
ter and month-long battles. No longer will 
a story in the morning papers of a capture 
of a mile of trenches be a mere historical fact, 
not when it is our own kith and kin who are 
out in those trenches in the death grapple. 
Things have changed in one short year. 

In 1916, when I returned from the war 
zone, I came back speaking of our country 
as possibly the most misunderstood country 
on the face of the earth. The Germans hated 
us. They were saying, "We could win the 
war if America would stay out and not sup- 
ply the Allies with munitions." 

In September, 1917, I found in the bot- 
tom of a German gas mask a copy of a Ger- 
man newspaper of February which best tells 
Germany's attitude toward America before 
our entry into the war. 

Following is the translation: 

Soldiers' Edition of the Christian Mes- 
senger, Sunday, February 25, 1917. 

234 



"I WANT TO DO MY BIT" 

Things Temporal 

"Quite contrary to his expectation, Wil- 
son, with his appeal to the neutral states, has 
suffered a diplomatic defeat. Not even the 
South American States, of whose following 
the President believed himself sure, have 
joined the policy of the United States, not to 
mention the European States who will take 
care not to allow themselves unawares to be- 
come entangled in a war with the Central 
Powers. 

*'For us the suspicion seems even more 
than justified that there exists between Eng- 
land and America another one of those secret 
treaties such as this war has already brought 
to light in several cases. If that were a fact, 
then Mr. Wilson's attitude would be quite 
clear. Now we'll see whether America will 
go so far as to allow its citizens to sail to 
England on armed passenger steamers, in 
order to have, in case of the torpedoing of 
such a vessel, a cause for declaring war on 
Germany. 

"They tell of two American steamers that 
have sailed for the coast of France without 

235 



OUT THERE 

using the stripes demanded by Germany for 
their protection. Yes, and this seems quite 
American, they say they made a wager as to 
which ship would arrive first. That is to 
say, America's attitude towards the question 
whether there will be war between Germany 
and America is that of a sportsman. One 
cannot understand such actions, though they 
may suit an Englishman or an American. 
For us, it seems too frivolous. If one of 
these vessels, or indeed both, are sent to the 
bottom and if incomparably precious Amer- 
ican lives are risked, or if one or another of 
the travelers is lost, then America will make 
in the name of humanity and international 
law a casus belli. We cannot allow our- 
selves for a single moment to be led astray 
by these and similar manoeuvres; we must go 
our way quietly but firmly. That our ene- 
mies are lamed with fear, we notice from the 
reports. Our submarines are sinking more 
boats than ever. The seamen are refusing to 
sail with their vessels, for their lives are not 
held so cheap by them as to risk them lightly. 
"We have left to the Englishmen the vil- 
236 



"I WANT TO DO MY BIT" 

lage of Grandcourt on the West Front. 
They did not capture it, but we quietly with- 
drew, since our men were too much exposed 
there to enemy fire." 

POEM 

^*TO THE GERMAN KAISER" 

Twice worthy of the Imperial Crown 
Thee sorrow tried, we now do own, 

Great Comrade, battle won. 

Thou strong and frank, that war might cease 

Didst offer to the enemy peace. 
Thy reward is now their scorn. 

But thee we follow, one and all, 

Still further, to the steel sword's call, 

In this, the Holy War, 

Thou leadst us, Blessed of the Lord, 

The people's star and valiant guard, 
Where peace and victory are. 

So much for the German attitude. 

The Allies were saying, "Oh, yes, you are 
too proud to fight, but you are not too proud 
to take our dollars." All of them knew that 
during those first two years of the war Amer- 
ica's income increased many billions of dol- 
lars. "Too proud to fight, but not too proud 
to rake in oin- gold." "We cannot under- 
stand how a nation that boasts of democracy 

237 



OUT THERE 

and liberty, as yours boasts, can stand by 
and see your women and children sent to the 
bottom of the Atlantic." For, as our hon- 
ored' ex -President Taft has said, those women 
and children were as much entitled to the 
protection of the American flag as the wom- 
en and children in any village or city of 
America. 

In fact, Americans were speculating and 
talking about when the war would end as if 
it were some great athletic game. Little did 
we realize what a gigantic struggle was in 
progress. There seemed to be a general 
feeling everywhere that the war would soon 
be over. I have recalled a great many times 
the words of our American Ambassador, Mr. 
Sharpe, who, talking with me just before I 
left Paris for America in 1916, said: 

"People in America do not realize condi- 
tions when they talk about the conclusion 
of the war. I can conceive of the war going 
on at least another three years. Both sides 
are so evenly matched and they have such 
unlimited numbers of men." 

I think I can best explain the feeling of 
238 



"I WANT TO DO MY BIT" 

last year by an experience I had one night 
at an officers' mess, with the army that has 
so persistently and successfully knocked at 
the doors of Jerusalem. 

After mess, one young Major was very 
particular that I should not get away until 
he knew that I was made aware of what they 
thought of America. He said: 

"By the way, have you ever been at 
Salonika?'* 
"No, I have not been at Salonika." 
"Of course, that is not strange. Every- 
body is there but the Americans. However, 
we get a journalist coming through occa- 
sionally. I have just come over from Salon- 
ika. The other day, after one of our battles, 
one of your American journalists came in 
and looked around and said: 

"*Jimminy, but that was some fight!' 
"One of our men looked at him and said: 
" *Yes, some fight, and some don't.^ " 
That was the spirit over there last year. 
Some nations fight for their rights and some 
nations do not. 

On my return to Europe after Amer- 



OUT THERE 

ica's entry into the war I found an abso- 
lutely different feeling. I've stood in Lon- 
don and seen hundreds and thousands of their 
own men go off to the front without even 
the clapping of hands, but the day the Amer- 
ican soldiers marched through her streets, 
staid old London fairly went wild with en- 
thiisiasm. 

They actually tried to cut the buttons off 
our boys' coats as a souvenir of the day that 
America entered the fight for democracy. 

Some change from last year. 

The same men who were saying to me 
last year, "What is the matter with Amer- 
ica?" are saying today, "Oh, your President 
was exactly right. He played it just right." 
I remember one particular friend who last 
year said, "I cannot understand your Presi- 
dent"; a British officer, saying to me this 
year, "When the time comes for the Peace 
Conference, I hope that Woodrow Wilson 
sits at the head of the peace table." No 
longer are they saying, "America too proud 
to fight," but "America, too, proud to fight!" 

France is bleeding, but determined, and 
240 



"I WANT TO DO MY BIT" 

her sister Republic enters into the great 
struggle. Words cannot express the terrific 
spirit of enthusiasm that went sweeping over 
that whole French Army when America came 
in. There is one message that I wish I might 
bring home to the camps in this country be- 
fore I again tm-n my face towards that war 
zone. It is this: 

"As you go overseas, go not with the 
spirit that we have come to finish the war; 
that they had to call us in to end it. Let us 
go forward in the spirit of humility. For 
three long years they have been fighting our 
battles, and God grant that we may go for- 
ward in true humility of spirit, as we go 
forward to take up our share of the burden." 

No, this is no longer France's war alone. 
This is no longer Britain's war alone. This 
is no longer Italy's war alone, nor the Allies' 
war alone. 

It is our war as much as it is their war, 
and we are determined that we likewise shall 
walk in the path of sacrifice, suffering and 
death that leads to victory. 

Now the one thing I object to these days 
241 



OUT THERE 

is the talk that this is a war of atrocities. 
Of course, atrocities have been committed 
out there that would turn your hair white 
if you knew them. But the marvelous French 
soldiers and the British soldiers are fighting 
not because of atrocities. They are fighting 
not alone because Belgium has been overrun. 
They are fighting not alone because Servia 
has been swept by the awful broom of de- 
struction and death. 

We are all fighting because Germany has 
tried to Prussianize the world. She has tried 
to blot out the most sacred words in the 
Anglo-Saxon and French languages, Democ- 
racy and Liberty and Justice, and we are de- 
termined that those words shall live forever. 

One evening, with the head Australian 
Y. M. C. A. Secretary, Mr. Clark, I left 
Cairo by fast express. The next morning 
we got off at a little desert station, from 
which point a tiny narrow-gauge railroad 
went out into the desert. We had a private 
car to ourselves, but the trouble was that it 
had brought sick camels in from the outlying 
desert camp. 

242 



"I WANT TO DO MY BIT" 

We traveled all day, the wonderful mirages 
arising before our eyes, and the awful, awful 
heat of the desert around us. We passed 
through absolutely forsaken barren places, 
and late in the afternoon got off the train 
and proceeded by camel-back to the outposts 
of the Empire. 

At the very edge of the Empire I found 
a Y. M. C. A. secretary who was truly ren- 
dering one of the most unique pieces of ser- 
vice I have ever seen. The men at the out- 
post were living under a temperature of one 
hundred and twenty to one hundred and 
thirty degrees in the shade, and the nearest 
shade was one hundred and fifty miles away, 
on the Nile. 

MacDiamond, the secretary, had forgotten 
all save his desire to help these men. His 
canteen, which was a low mud shanty, was 
always packed and no man entered its door 
without the feeling that here was a man who 
cared for him. Night after night he was 
disposing of gallons of hot cocoa, for those 
who have lived in the tropics appreciate the 
value of a hot drink. 

243 



OUT THERE 

I could not keep from wondering if any 
of these men would come to a religious meet- 
ing when the heat seemed to "fairly make 
your eyebrows crawl." 

To my surprise, as the evening came on, 
the men commenced to gather in. I stood 
upon a box, and two thousand men, prac- 
tically every man in the camp who was off 
duty, gathered at the sound of my voice, and 
I talked about sacrifice. I should have been 
ashamed to have mentioned the word, save as 
I told the story of the great sacrifice of a 
Man who gave his Ufe for men. They knew 
more about sacrifice than I had ever dreamed 
of knowing. 

And that night, after I had talked of 
sacrifice for an hour, I stopped speaking and 
dismissed them. We all felt the presence of 
God that night in the desert. It is only in 
the desert that the silence hurts, the awful 
silence of the desert, the gripping power of 
that terrific silence. And to my surprise, 
for more than twenty-five minutes less than 
twenty men got up to go to their bunks — 
not to their tents. No, there were their 

244 



"I WANT TO DO MY BIT" 

rifles, with the bayonets fixed into the sand 
to keep the sand out of the mechanism, al- 
ways ready for the attack of the Senussi. 
And there they sat on the sand for ahnost 
thirty minutes. No man moved. 

Oh, if I could have painted a picture that 
night that would have told their thoughts! 
The rolling wheat fields of Australia would 
have been on that canvas, for the Australians 
were there; and the Highlands of Scotland, 
for the Scots were there; and the rolling hills 
of Wales, for the Welsh were there. Old 
London would have been on that canvas, 
because Tommy proper — ^and Tommy im- 
proper — ^was there; 

Finally they broke up, and off to their 
bunks they went. Long after midnight, as 
I lay stretched on the sand, thinking of those 
thousands of miles across the sea, there came 
tiptoeing across the sand to where I was 
lying a young Australian. He looked down 
and said: 

"Mister, are you asleep?" 

"No, I am not asleep." And you would 
not have been asleep either if that were your 

245 



OUT THERE 

second night in a desert camp, and you did 
not know at what minute the Senussi might 
— just by chance, you know — make an attack. 
It might only be by chance, but you might 
have laid awake to think it over. That is 
what I was doing. 

"Are you asleep?" 

"No, I am not asleep." 

"I want to talk with you. You know. 
Mister, tonight why we did not leave you?" 

"No." 

"There are a lot of men in this camp that 
have not been true to the home folks, and 
they are swearing to God tonight they are 
going to be true and play this game square; 
but that is not what I want to talk to you 
about. Mister, do you know IVe got to go 
home and I don't want to go. I want to 
stay out here." 

"Well, now, that's too bad, but what's the 
trouble?" 

"Well, the Major," referring to the sur- 
geon, "says I have got to go home. He 
says one of my lungs is on the blink; he 
knows my brother has been killed over there 

246 



"I WANT TO DO MY BIT" 

in France; he knows my mother is a widow 
out there in Australia, and I am the only- 
one left in the family, and he says I have 
got to go home and he is going to give me 
an honorable discharge; and, Mister, I can- 
not go." 

"That is too bad; how long have you been 
out here?" 

"Three months." 

"That is not long to be away from home." 

"But hold on. Mister." Drawing back his 
little shoulders, he looked me In the eye and 
spoke the most eloquent words in the Aus- 
tralian vocabulary: "I am an Anzac. I am 
an Anzac." 

At Galhpoli, at the Dardanelles when the 
orders came to land, the Australians and the 
New Zealanders went forward. They fell 
into the waters, with their heads bobbing up 
and down like apples in a tub. They got 
their feet on the shores, on the sands of 
Gallipoli. 

They were told to take two trenches. They 
went forward under machine gun fire and 
shrapnel and took the first line trench. They 

247 



OUT THERE 

took the second line trench, and then, for- 
getting all orders, for they did not care, on 
they went, and took the third line trench 
under the shells from their own guns. 

And they held it. Because of their mar- 
velous bravery at Gallipoli that day they 
named the landing place Anzac. Every man 
that was there from that time on was an 
Anzac, the Australian-New Zealand Army 
Corps, Anzac. 

"Yes, I am an Anzac." I knew the whole 
story. He had seen more hell of war than 
any of us have ever dreamed of seeing. He 
had gone over those shell-swept shores at 
the Dardanelles. And there I stood with him, 
an old seasoned warrior of the Dardanelles, 
long after midnight, on the very farthest 
outpost of the British Empire. 

When he looked at me, he was crying like 
a little child. 

"Mister I don't want to go home. I don't 
want to go home; I want to stay here!" 

And I put my hand over on his shoulder. 

"My lad, you know you lied to get in. 
Tell me the truth. How old are you?" 

248 



"I WANT TO DO MY BIT" 

"Seventeen years old." 

A lad. Yes, a mere boy, but he had caught 
the real spirit of sacrificial service. 

Two long years had he stuck it out. He 
had answered his country's call at fifteen 
years of age. Now an old veteran of two 
campaigns he is unwilling to lay down his 
arms, even though he is unfit for service. 

"I don't want to go home, I just want to 
do my bit." 

The time has come when before God every 
single man that boasts of being an American, 
squarely, honestly, before God, says to Him: 

"I want to do my bit. I want to do my 
bit for my home, for my country, for myself, 
and for my God." 

Let us not forget those who have laid 
down their lives that we may have life and 
liberty. But in their sacrifice let us catch a 
vision of the great eternal truths of life and 
go forward to finish the work which they 
have begim, d) 



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these times. ipoaa * 

$2.00 net 

GREAT BRITAIN'S PART 

By Paul D. Cravath 

In brief compass the author tells what Great Britain has 
done and is doing to help win the great war. The book is 
unique among war books because it is a story of organiza- 
tion rather than of battle front scenes and is a side of the 
war few other writers have more than touched upon. 
"It would be difficult to make language clearer or more 
eflPective. . . . It is a veritable pistol shot of alluring 
information." — The Christian Intelligencer, New York. 
$1.00 net 

OUT OF THEIR OWN MOUTHS 

With an introduction by Willdlm Roscoe Thayee 

To prove conclusively the identity of the aggressors in the 
great war, and their ultimate aims this book has been pre- 
pared from the official documents, speeches, letters and 
hundreds of unofficial statements of German leaders. With 
few exceptions, the extracts included in this collection are 
taken directly from the German. 

"It is the most comprehensive collection of this character 
that has yet appeared." — The Springfield Union. 

$1.00 net 

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D. APPLETON AND COMPANY . - - - NEW YORK 

520 



True Stories of the War 

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MEN, WOMEN AND WAR 

By Will Irwin, author of "The Latin at War." 

With the inquisitiveness of the reporter and the pen of an 
artist in words the author has in this book given us the 
human side of an inhuman war. He saw and understood 
the implacable German war machine; the Belgian fighting 
for his homeland; the regenerated French defending their 
country against the invader, and the imperturbable English, 
determined to maintain their honor even if the empire was 
threatened. 

"The splendid story of Ypres is the fullest outline of that 
battle that the present reviewer has seen. Mr. Irwin's book 
is all the better for not having been long. It has no dull 
pages." — The New York Times. 

$1.10 net 



THE LATIN AT WAR 

By W^iLL Irwik, author of "Men, Women and War." 

No correspondent "at the front" has found more stories of 
human interest than has Mr. Irwin. In this book he has set 
forth his experiences and observations in France and Italy 
during the year 1917, and discusses the social and economic 
conditions as seen through the eyes of civilians and soldiers 
he interviewed. 

"He makes you visualize while you read, because he visual- 
ized while he wrote." — The Outlook, New York. 

"It is a fascinating volume throughout; the more so because 
of the writer's unfailing sense of humor, of pathos, and of 
sympathy with human nature in all its phases and experi- 
ences." — The New York Tribune. 

$1.75 net 



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